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[techacs]

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[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】  Tears of Themis: Xia Yan Personal Story 4-11 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist | Video

Chapter 4: 4-1 / 4-2 / 4-4 / 4-5 / 4-6 / 4-7 / 4-9 / 4-10 / 4-11 / 4-12 / 4-13 / 4-14 / 4-16

I drove the car into the boundless night.

Sphinx: Don’t worry. Sergeant Li’s team has already sent out a call for help and support teams will be over soon. They’ll be fine.

MC: Thanks for comforting me, Sphinx.

Sphinx: … That’s all I can do here, comfort people. It’s always been like that.

Sphinx’s voice had a sliver of frustrated self-mocking in it, for some reason.

He had just spoken when my phone suddenly vibrated – the caller was of an unknown number.

Based on the number, it looked like they were using an internet phone.

MC: Who would be using an internet phone to call me?

Sphinx: …

Sphinx: Put it on speaker, so I can hear too.

I accepted the call and tapped the speakerphone symbol.

Unknown Caller: Miss Lawyer, correct?

This voice sounded exactly the same as the one in Ji Xiaoqing’s recording!

MC: Song Heng!

Song Heng: Hahaha, it makes things easier if Miss Lawyer remembers me this well.

MC: What do you want?

Song Heng: They had you take the evidence away first, right? I want you to take the evidence to me.

MC: What nonsense—

???: Agh!

I hadn’t finished speaking when an agonized shout came from my phone.

MC: !!!

Song Heng: Miss Lawyer, do you know who that is?

⊳ I know ⊳ I don’t know

I recalled the agonized voice immediately – it was Ji Xiaoyu!

 ⊳ I know ⊳ I don’t know

MC: …

The voice was somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember who it was all at once.

Song Heng: Then I’ll give you a reminder – break two more of her fingers.

???: Arrgh--!

The two agonized shouts made me recall who it was immediately – it was Ji Xiaoyu!

--

The police had given Ji Xiaoyu protection before – did something happen?

MC: Ji Xiaoyu! What did you do to her!

Song Heng: Don’t worry. I just broke two of her fingers as a warning for you.

MC: You—

Song Heng: Now we can have a nice conversation, right, Miss Lawyer?

Song Heng: Take the evidence to me, or else I’ll have Ji Xiaoyu die in an awful way.

MC: …

Sphinx: Do not panic. Turn on the car computer now and backup the evidence.

Sphinx: You’re already outside of the Maple Leaf Event Hall network range, and you’re within the range of Cloudbreak Mountain’s public park network.

Sphinx: When you finish backing up and uploading the evidence, I’ll use the public network to get into your car’s computer and get rid of any indications of the upload.

Sphinx: Also, I will call the police right now. Delay for time as much as you can.

Sphinx: It will take 45 minutes to get from the nearest station to you.

I followed Sphinx’s instructions and started to backup the contents of the USB. The entire process required 5 minutes.

Simultaneously, Ji Xiaoyu’s shouts came from the phone.

Ji Xiaoyu: Don’t mind me!

Ji Xiaoyu: Miss Lawyer, if you hadn’t found me, I would’ve wanted to die long ago! I’m not scared!

Ji Xiaoyu: Even if I die, I will drag these people who caused my sister to die into hell with me!

Ji Xiaoyu: Don’t come over, that will help me more – urk!

Ji Xiaoyu sounded like someone had clamped down on her neck. What followed was a flurry of punching and kicking sounds.

The fighting sounds in the phone grew more intense, but Ji Xiaoyu did not shout again. I could only hear her suppressed, rough gasps of pain.

MC: (Ji Xiaoyu…)

Song Heng: Hostages always like to display this sort of old act – no creativity whatsoever.

Song Heng sounded like he was complaining about spending money to see a bad movie.

Song Heng: Back to the original topic, Miss Lawyer. What do you want to do?

Song Heng: I looked into your work records – you seem to think yourself as a very righteous lawyer.

Song Heng: Then, Miss Righteous Lawyer, tell me – which is more important, evidence or the life of a victim?

MC: I…

I didn’t know how to respond.

Song Heng waited several seconds, then laughed knowingly.

Song Heng: Those of justice always insist that the lives and safety of people are more important than anything else, but you’re not saying anything…

Song Heng: Looks like you feel that evidence is more important that Ji Xiaoyu’s life, correct?

Song Heng: Makes sense, as evidence is more valuable for you.

MC: What do you mean…

Song Heng: To both the police and to you, rather than saving some innocent person and losing some essential evidence, and thus failing to solve the case due to lacking the final bit…

Song Heng: Destroying a large gang will bring you more concrete benefit.

Song Heng: The police can get awards and be promoted, and you, miss, can get exposure, fame, and receive more cases.

Song Heng: As for some unlucky, innocent members of the masses – the path to victory will always have some sacrifices.

Song Heng: Plus, these victims are always so willing to help you get rid of any worries of future consequences.

Song Heng: “Even if I die, I’ll drag these guys into hell with me”, hahaha…

Song Heng: When interviewed by the media, when facing the family members of the victims, and in the quiet nights, do you comfort yourself like that?

Song Heng: “I’ve achieved the victims’ final wishes”, as a few cheap tears trickle down your face, becoming a “hero” with your mind at peace.

Song Heng couldn’t resist laughing.

MC: Not at all!

Song Heng: All come for the sake of profit and leave after the profit is made.

Song Heng: Man is always a refined egoist. I, of course, have no problems if you want to do that.

Song Heng: But us villains are more magnanimous, while you all are hypocrites of fake justice.

I knew that Song Heng was trying to agitate me, trying to force me over… my fingernails had completely sunken into the steering wheel.

Song Heng: I can let you hypocrites take what you need after, but I’m in a rush now, so I’ll have to use some villainous methods.

MC: What are you going to do?!

Song Heng: The lives of victims naturally cannot compare to your vanity that wants to execute justice.

Song Heng: Then which is more important, your reputation or vanity?

Song Heng: Miss Lawyer, if you do not come, I will edit this recording of you ignoring death and post it online.

Song Heng: Using public opinion to apply pressure in court is also a common method used by lawyers. You must be well aware of how powerful it is.

I looked at the uploading progress bar on the car computer – it finally completed backup of the evidence and was now starting the upload.

MC: I will bring the evidence to you.

Song Heng: Good.

Song Heng: Then I will send you the address now. You must come over with the evidence alone.

Song Heng: Aside from that, there’s something else.

My phone suddenly vibrated twice, and a message popped up.

Song Heng: Open the link in the message.

Song Heng: That will plant a Trojan virus in your phone. Messages, phone records, webpage records, and the microphone… I’ll be controlling it all.

Song Heng: Don’t even think about hanging up and calling the police.

MC: … I got it.

I opened the link in the message.

Song Heng: According to your phone’s location, you’ll only need 20 minutes to get here at full speed.

Song Heng: If you try to dawdle… I’ve got lots of ways to make you understand how it feels to regret.

MC: Do not do anything to Ji Xiaoyu anymore. I will get over on time.

Song Heng: Okay, then I’ll be waiting for you.

Song Heng finally hung up.

My hand felt powerless for a second, and the car nearly skidded.

Sphinx: Miss MC, I have some things to say to you now.

Sphinx: Tap on the earbud in response. One tap for “yes”, two taps for “no”.

If I spoke, Song Heng would overhear using my phone microphone. Sphinx and I could only communicate like this.

I lifted my trembling hand, tapping on the microphone once.

Sphinx: I must remind you that even if you send the evidence, you and Ji Xiaoyu will not survive. Qian Yi and Ji Xiaoqing are examples of this.

Sphinx: The place he’s told you to go to is a mountain road in the middle of construction. Typically, no one will pass by.

Sphinx: I’m sure you’re well aware of what he intends to do.

I tapped the earbud once.

Sphinx: So you do know…

He went silent for a moment.

Sphinx: You are not the police. You have no duty to endanger yourself to save Ji Xiaoyu.

Sphinx: I’ve already recorded the call just now and called the police. I’ve also sent the address Song Heng sent you to the police. They will send people to save you.

MC: (But with his location, even the closest policemen will need 45 minutes to get over.)

MC: (If I don’t get there in 20 minutes, Song Heng will kill Ji Xiaoyu and escape the net…)

MC: (But if I can delay for 25 minutes until the police arrive….)

I tapped twice on the earbud.

Sphinx did not respond. A moment later, a sudden noise came from the earbud.

Sphinx: Xia Yan and the rest have successfully escaped. I’ll connect him in!

I didn’t have any time to do anything before I heard Xia Yan’s voice.

Xia Yan: … It’s me.

MC: (Xia Yan… it’s great that you’re fine.)

When I heard his voice, my tears burst out.

Xia Yan: Do you have to go? And nothing I say will change your mind?

Trembling, I tapped once on the earbud.

MC: (I’m so sorry…)

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: It will take me 35 minutes to drive to where Song Heng is. After you get there, no matter what, delay him for 15 minutes.

Xia Yan: I will absolutely save you. Absolutely.

MC: (I believe you… I will wait for you.)

I wanted to speak to Xia Yan. I had so many things I wanted to say to him.

But right now, all I could do was tap on the earbud once…

Xia Yan: … You must wait for me.

--

I drove forward, towards the location Song Heng indicated.

Midway there, the storm clouds accumulated above. A few muffled claps of thunder sounded, and a rainstorm poured down.

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #xia yan #luke pearce #未定事件簿 #a dose of tense sadness to end off tonight

[anonthenullifier]

In your snapshot au, how would Wanda and Vision react to meeting canon Tommy and Billy? Billy with his alternate family and issues, and Tommy with his sad history.

Thanks for the ask! As is clear from this series, canon is not held to firmly haha. I hope this is somewhat what you were hoping for and that you enjoy it!

The air tastes different, a touch sour. It’s a fact no one else would pick up on, the gustatory senses of humans discerning but also overwhelmed with the endless combination of flavors. Vision does not eat and so breathing presents him the most common ingredient to his taste buds.

Vision nods, lips held in a taut line as he accesses Avenger Protocol 3252, subtitled: So You’ve Found Yourself in the Multiverse...again. Though Vision wrote the majority of the protocol, it was cosponsored and researched primarily by Dr. Strange and Wanda, neither of whom understood why Vision asked for a breakdown of atmospheric elements, but they did it anyway. He scans through the endless lists of Earths and stops once he reaches the 600s, where carbon dioxide ranges from .0039 to .0040%.

Step 1 of Protocol 3252: Ascertain rough multiversic location. Check.

Step 2: Determine if you are alone.

This is always more difficult, the transition between universes occurring with a heady rush and a feeling of discombobulation that often gives way to brief amnesia. Vision scans his surroundings, a verdant park in what appears to be an urban community. There is a bench underneath an oak, one that obscures the sight of him in case anyone were to wander past. Once seated he runs through what he can remember. He was on an Avengers mission, battling some sorcerer of pandemonium, or so the man yelled a few times but Vision did not catch an actual name, far too focused on trying to usher nervous citizens away from the rain of concrete slabs and glass shards. It was not a solo mission, Wanda was there with him, as were Dr. Strange, Captain Marvel, and...others. A hiccup in his memory is concerning, particularly if he wishes to find his way out of wherever he is.

An elongated blink recenters the growing anxiety in the pit of his abdomen, the least helpful thing he can do now is panic. “Wanda.” He says her name both in his mind and in his comm unit, hopeful one, or both, will reach her, assuming she came through with him.

A second of silence rolls into a disheartening thirty seconds and then an agonizing minute, once he reaches two minutes he takes a deep breath, moving on to Step 3: Identify potential resources for return. It is his least favorite step, despite being the single most important one. Another breath expands his chest, synthetic lungs holding onto the sour air several seconds past his normal inhalation, and then they release, his perturbation vibrating out of his lips with barely a sound.

Hesitantly Vision mentally reaches for whatever internet is available here and, once identified, connects. He always accesses major news networks first, the headlines streaming through his mind at a breakneck pace as he struggles to identify any event in this universe that might have occurred to pull him over, leaving the insinuation it was something in his own home universe that led to his desertion. This is fine, this is good information, it just means he has less control than he would like, having to rely on anyone left at the site of his disappearance to bring him back. If Wanda is there, which he so desperately hopes she is (while also feeling guilty at the gnawing want of having her here with him now, even if it means she too is stranded), then she will no doubt get to him soon. This he cannot control and thus it is unhelpful.

The major news networks deemed useless, he dips into the archives about the Avengers, wanting to determine who is on their roster and if any of them have knowledge or capabilities of returning him. Or, as Wanda pointed out the last time this happened, if he were to get stuck, is the team made up of people he actually likes and would feel okay being with for some time. With a touch more force, he sends out a mental ping to his wife, one that he imbues with the weight of his anxiety, hoping that will help carry his signal farther.

He is getting distracted. Consciously and a bit reproachfully, he urges his attention back to the search, the roster, based on news articles and the official photos on the Avengers’ webpage, revealing the team is relatively the same, though he does notice his and Wanda’s pictures are in opposite corners. An oddity since they always put them next to each other. It is tempting to contact himself in these scenarios, except Dr. Strange warns against too much interference with one’s own life, something about ripples being sent across the other universes. He finds Dr. Strange enlightening and yet obfuscating, concepts, like the multiverse, grounded in science and yet the man also throws a shroud of mysticism over it when he wishes not to divulge the secrets of his craft.

This next search is one he knows he shouldn’t do, but curiosity (and a deeply rational justification that, if successful, it would be helpful) gets the best of Vision, mind cycling back to the distance between himself and his wife in the pictures. Search: William Maximoff. Results: 0. Vision frowns. Search: Thomas Maximoff. Results: 0.

Vision stands, immediately launching into a pace of six feet to the right, pivot, six feet to the left, repeat. Nothing in the protocol states he should care about this, all the multiverses different in some way. There are some where he doesn’t even exist as a synthezoid and others where Wanda is the daughter of a powerful mutant. It seems in this one they did not have the boys (a weight latches to his heart and begins to drag it down inch by inch) and it seems possible he and Wanda are not even together. This is where he should drop this line of inquiry and go back to the protocol. Except he can’t, and he blames it on the cognitive distortions caused by traveling unwillingly through the multiverse, his typical even keel knocked askew . Vision conjures up an image of Billy, entering it into a reverse image search, certain that nothing will come up. Results: 28. and a helpful suggestion of, Related search: William Kaplan .

“Vision!” His head snaps up, eyes squinting as he rises from the bench, body swiveling in the direction of her voice. “Vision!”

Yelling for each other is frowned upon in the protocols, comm units and telepathy (if available) much preferred to avoid making a scene, but her voice is untamed and dripping with the same anxiety flowing through his veins. “Wanda!” He rises into the air, just enough to see her stumbling up a low hill, her gait uneven, the left leg overcompensating for whatever is wrong with her right. In exactly 3.59 seconds he is at her side, arms wrapping around her waist to steady her and his lips conveying his relief with a series of five uncoordinated kisses to the part of her hair. “There is a bench over here.”

Gingerly he scoops her up, hovering them over to his spot of cogitation, and then he carefully settles her onto the boards of the bench, easing her right leg so it can lay flat. “I thought I was alone.”

“As did I.”

A smile, fluid and natural, loving and relieved, spreads across her face. “But then I felt you.”

Vision bends, capturing her lips and channeling his own relief into the action, overjoyed at having her with him. Until reality sets in, his prior search illuminating a shortfall in his selfish desires. “If we’re both here, the boys are alone.”

“Let’s find a way back then.” Wanda says it as if it is as simple as walking through a door or clicking your heels three times together. “Where’re you at in the protocol?”

How far his wife has come since their early days when, according to her, protocols were meant to be ignored. “Step 3.”

Impatience underscores her drawn out, “And…”

“I think,” this is where he discovers a crossroads in reasoning, do they go to the Avengers who likely have someone who can help with the multiverse or do they find William Kaplan, hoping he is analogous enough to their own son, one who can tear holes into reality with barely a shrug. “I may have located Billy.”

Wanda rubs her hand along her leg, scarlet sparking from her fingers as she no doubt assesses her injury. “Why do you sound so afraid?”

If he were to label his intonation, it would not have been fear, but his wife is far more attuned to the actual emotions of others, particularly his. Perhaps he is afraid, and it would, logically, be an appropriate response given what he discovered. “Because in this universe his name is Billy Kaplan, not Maximoff.”

“Oh.” A kaleidoscope of emotions filter across her face, eyes and mouth morphing from fear to sadness to disbelief until a single scrunch of her nose breaks the pattern, features dropping into a blank resoluteness she tends to show only on missions. “If we want to get home, we have to try.

———

Trying is always so uncomplicated in the planning phase before it unravels into frayed nerves, Vision’s finger poised in front of the buzzer, unable to commit to pushing a simple button.

“It’s not going to electrocute you.” The usual sardonic edge has been sanded down, revealing the grains of worry piling up in her mind the longer they draw this out.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

“Not really.”

Vision tightens his fingers around hers in what he hopes is a comforting squeeze of understanding and companionship. “Okay.” The two syllables start the countdown, his shaky breath that follows ends it, his finger pressing firmly against the little illuminated circle.

The dull click of the button precedes the crackle of the apartment’s comm system and then a familiar voice comes out of the speaker. “Who’s there?”

Wanda mouths Is that Teddy? and Vision nods, certain she is correct but he needs to focus on their task without distractions. He pushes the button and does his best to sound calm, “It is Vision and Wanda Maximoff,” this should be enough, except he has no way of knowing how highly (or not so highly) regarded or familiar they are to this universe’s Teddy, “from an alternate universe.” Wanda’s eye roll clearly spells out how she feels about his choice of words. All that matters is if it works, so he ignores her unspoken derision and waits for a response.

A staticky, “Ummmm one sec,” ends the conversation, leaving them in an anticipatory, antsy silence.

Ten minutes, 37 seconds, and 28 milliseconds later the elevator to their left dings, the door crawling open to reveal Billy standing there in jeans and a gray sweater, black hair styled more maturely than what Vision has ever seen from him. In fact, he appears at least a few years older than their own universe’s Billy. “Um hi,” the man studies them, blue licking the elevator doors to hold them open, his eyes scanning over them, briefly becoming fascinated with their interwoven fingers, and then he seems to reach a decision, a curt nod followed by a, “Why don’t you come on up.”

Vision allows Wanda to go first, his hand staying firmly on her back as they walk and it remains there throughout the dense silence of the elevator ride and the even denser, slower silence as they walk down the hall and enter an apartment. Teddy warmly greets them, “Come on in, have a seat.” Which they do, Wanda choosing a loveseat so they can sit together, her attention locked on the little dance of the two men, Teddy kissing Billy’s cheek and whispering something before disappearing behind a wall. He returns shortly after with a couple cups of tea and some chips.

Where Teddy seems mildly jovial and an expert host, Billy lowers himself into an armchair, suspicious eyes never leaving Vision and Wanda. “So what universe are you from?”

A philosophical debate the team had upon beginning to map the multiverse, a conclusion reached that Vision never much cared for. “We label our universe, egocentrically, as Earth-1.” An iota of amusement quirks up Billy’s mouth and Vision is confused at just how quickly pride fills his chest at the accomplishment. “Based on atmospheric readings, you are somewhere between Earth-600 and Earth-650, by our scientific labeling.”

Billy takes in the information, quietly sorting it with whatever knowledge he possesses and then follows Protocol 3253 (So You’ve Discovered Another You from the Multiverse), “How’d you get here?”

“We aren’t sure,” Wanda grips Vision’s knee as she talks, allowing her unease to flow into his body instead of her words, “We were battling a sorcerer and then the next thing we remember is being here.”

The explanation is considered and sorted, Billy’s mouth dropping into a downward concave. “Why’d you seek me out,” now he makes eye contact, a touch of animosity in his voice, “can’t the Scarlet Witch control reality in your universe?”

Wanda’s, “I can,” is small and bordering on timid, but her voice builds back up to her normal confidence when she provides what, at least in their universe, is the truth. “But not as well as you.” This doesn’t kick start any sort of remark, and so she tries an example, “Last week you casually sent your brother into an alternate dimension because he ate the last brownie.” Wanda laughs at the memory, concern breaking briefly into the joy of reminiscing, “It took me an hour to get him back and only because you,” she falters, realizing she is breaking protocol by treating this Billy as the same person, “our Billy finally told me where to look.”

The explanation is lost on the man in front of them, his mind stuck at the beginning of the story, “My brother?”

Vision nods, gently laying out the information, “Tommy Maximoff, your twin.”

A quiet, “We grew up together?” threatens to tear Vision’s soul in two, his body desperate to march over and envelop his son in his arms. Except this could not be his son, Kaplan a name Vision has never heard and it is clear that this universe’s Tommy may not be a Maximoff or even a Kaplan either.

Instead of a hug, Vision layers his, “You did,” with as much paternal warmth that he can, and then he clarifies the statement, their sons not yet adults and not even close to being done growing, “you are.”

“I,” Billy stands, lets out a deep sigh, turns towards them, then away, makes eye contact with Teddy (who may or may not have tears in his eyes), and then he simply states, “I’ll be back,” before disappearing through the floor in a blue portal.

Vision’s never had this effect on his son, and he turns his worry towards Teddy, “We have upset him.”

“Um,” the blonde haired man mulls over how to respond, “I think it’s safer to say the universe upset him.” A marginally more uplifting, yet still devastating fact. “He’ll be back.”

They wait in tense silence, Wanda leaning into Vision’s side, his body responding by wrapping an arm around her shoulder. And then there is a blue portal next to the coffee table, Billy yanking Tommy through with him.

In true Tommy fashion, neither his words nor opinions are minced, “What the ever loving fuck is going on?”

Wanda shoots Vision a look, warning him not to correct the language, and, just to be sure he won’t go full on polite police, she handles the response with a simple, “Nice to see you too, Tommy.”

Tommy doesn’t respond to her, turning to gesticulate wildly at Billy, “You said it was an emergency. I don’t want to get roped into whatever,” he flails an arm towards where they sit, “this is.”

“Tommy, slow down and look at them.”

An epic, unfiltered roll of his eyes conveys how very done with this situation the speedster is, but he obliges anyway, silently scrutinizing Wanda and Vision until he reaches a conclusion, “You look way cozier than you should.” Another sweep of scrutiny and another observation is provided, “Like the new look, Vision.” The use of his name stings, not because it is his name but because he has only ever heard it from their son in anger. Tommy doesn’t notice the effect it has, returning the conversation to Billy, “so what’s going on?”

“Multiverse shenanigans.”

“Ugh,” his disdain is evident, “great. Why am I here?”

Billy sits back down, picking up the no longer steaming cup of tea and takes a sip. “Can you tell us about your universe.” A broad question, one he realizes before anyone can answer. “About us, specifically.”

The question in Vision’s mind is where to start in the story, whether they begin with the inception of his and Wanda’s relationship or if they simply wish to know the barebones of the story, only the pieces where they themselves fit. “You’re our sons.” This isn’t the bombshell revelation he expected, neither Billy nor Tommy are surprised by this, which only grows the confusion that took root during Vision’s initial discovery of this universe’s Billy. “We have raised you and loved you for the last sixteen and a half years. You are part of—”

“Wait,” Tommy holds up a hand to stop the explanation, “the whole time?”

Wanda’s, “Yes,” is unflinching, “We’ve watched you grow into incredible men.”

To see Tommy speechless is unnerving, to know it is not a happy speechless is suffocating. Vision asks what he isn’t sure he actually wants to know, “Why does this seem unusual?”

A derisive laugh, one Tommy is a master of using, echoes around the apartment. “Oh I don’t know, because we’re the reason Scarlet Witch went insane, the reason she killed you,” he points at Vision and the words are nonsense, describing an action Wanda would never do. “Because as if that wasn’t bad enough, I won the lottery of reincarnation and had a shitty life I didn’t ask for. And then you two, you two don’t even try to be part of—”

“Tommy,” Billy stops the tirade, his twin throwing up his arms in frustration before crashing down onto a beanbag in the corner of the room. “Let me explain.” And he does, all of the harrowing details from Master Pandemonium to Mephisto, the dissolution of this universe’s Vision and Wanda’s marriage, and then he gets to their reincarnation. “Mom’s a psychologist,” the word mom causes Wanda to flinch, “dad’s a cardiologist,” and this forces Vision’s heart to metaphorically drop through the floor. “They’re good people, they try hard but I think my powers scare them a bit. High school was tough.” The way he says it implies it is an understatement.

“My parents are divorced, absent is a good word for them,” Vision’s heart enters the core of the Earth where it dissolves in fiery anger at the way this universe has treated his family, forcing them to be separated instead of together, “can’t blame them, though, I might have been a bit of an asshole trouble maker, went to juvey a few times,” Tommy pauses long enough to eat a chip, “got experimented on in there,” and this, above all else, sends Vision’s mind into despair. His memories of saving Tommy are superimposed with the knowledge that this man in front of him, this sarcastic, resilient man endured the same event ( and then worse) only without the knowledge he’d be saved, without the confidence that love would protect him. “But then I got broken out and we’ve been doing the Young Avenger thing for a while.”

“Do you,” Wanda falters, and Vision assumes it is because she, like him, is torn between wanting to know more while also being overwhelmed by all they’ve learned and all their boys have experienced here, “see us...them often?”

A shared stare, one that’s so common in the Maximoff household, provides the answer, each of them daring the other to say it. Billy, as usual, loses. “Depends...sometimes but not regularly.” He shrugs as if what he is saying is a simple fact of life instead of a dagger that can pierce vibranium skin, “everyone’s got lives to lead.”

“I see.” Those two words are empty and pointless and yet Vision can’t figure out anything profound or hopeful, far too burdened by what they’ve learned.

“Um I’m sure you want to get back to your sons,” the statement elicits in Vision a mixture of hope and yet also a harsh sting at the detached way Billy stated your sons . “So um you all ready to go home?”

Wanda stands first, holding out her hand for Vision to use (even though he does not physically need it) as he rises as well. “I think we should go while we can.”

They stand in a lopsided circle, staring at one another and then anywhere else. Wanda breaks the silence,“Thank you for helping us and for,” Vision wonders how she’ll finish it, because he himself doesn’t know what is appropriate here, “for talking with us.”

“Yeah,” Billy has always relied on empathy in moments of sadness, which is true of him here as well, a thirty degree slope of his lips enough to convey his honesty, “I’m glad to know in one universe we got to keep you as parents.”

A wetness rolls along Vision’s cheek, fingers lifting to brush aside the sorrow he’d been trying to hold in. Wanda doesn’t even attempt to levy the dam, her tears coming on strong as Billy, followed by a slightly reluctant Tommy, hugs her. A tendril of scarlet pulls Vision into the mix, his arms engulfing their divided family.

“We should go.” Wanda smiles sadly at them, her hand touching Tommy’s cheek first and then Billy’s, “We are so, so proud of who you are.”

“Alright, this is now too cheesy for me.” Tommy says it despite the fact Vision can also detect the quick swiping away of the speedster’s own tears.

Billy waves his right hand, opening a portal. Before walking through, Vision realizes he has one more thing to say. With three steps he is in front of Teddy, his hand held out. Once the man takes it, he shares a comforting fact, “It was nice to see you Teddy. I am glad you found each other here as well.”

A beaming smile emphasizes his elated, “Me too.”

With a final look at the three men, Vision and Wanda walk through the portal, stepping out into a landscape of ruination and collapsed buildings. Vision takes in a breath and is met with the familiar air of home. “We are in the correct universe.”

Despite the upward curve of her lips, his wife is unsettled, mind having not left their alternate lives. “How could we have just abandoned them?”

Vision weighs her question, himself also confused at the information. “I do not believe it is in our authority to judge decisions we do not fully know all the variables to.”

“Ever the infuriating diplomat, Maximoff.”

“Oh, my darling,” he swings her around, allowing him to grasp her shoulders firmly, face lowering just enough to rest his forehead to hers, “I cannot begin to fathom all they told us,” he will eventually, he reasons, what they learned today will no doubt haunt his thoughts and lead down many pathways of deep contemplation, “but what I do know, is that even though they may not have the Maximoff name anymore, they are still our sons, and no matter the universe, we will love them fiercely.”

Wanda accepts it, even if she seems less than wholly convinced, “I hope so.”

“Come along,” he twines his fingers through hers, giving her arm a slight tug forward, “I would like to find our boys and hug them for a few hours.”

“They’ll hate it.”

Vision shrugs, “They will survive it.”

#scarlet vision #wanda maximoff #vision #tommy maximoff #tommy shepherd #billy maximoff #Billy Kaplan #the maximoffs #mine #I hope this is canon accurate enough #slowly but surely catching up on asks #wandavision #ask anon

[tamatoashiny123]

A Day In The Life: A Kim Possible Story (Part 1: Morning)

Here’s the story pitch: what if you followed a day in the life of Doctor Drakken and Shego? Here’s how I think it’d go:

8 AM:

Having just woken up, Shego yawned, stretched, got out of bed, put on her robe, and headed to the kitchen for some breakfast. Her boss, Doctor Drakken, was already at the table, holding a cereal box.

“Good morning, Shego,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Doctor D,” she said back. “I’m gonna make some toast. Do you want some?”

“No thank you. I’m gonna have some of this cereal.”

Shego looked at the box as Drakken poured some cereal into a bowl. It contained Dino Pebbles, a very sugary and colorful cereal. “Are you sure? My teeth are hurting just looking at those flakes.”

“They’re pebbles, Shego. And I need some sugar. I’ve been suffering from an evil schemer’s block for a week now and getting some sugary energy flowing to my brain might be just what I need to overcome it!”

“Mmm, sure it will, Doctor D,” Shego replied, rolling her eyes

“Don’t give me that tone this early in the morning, Shego! Just watch! I’m gonna come up with something diabolical right now!”

Shaking her head, Shego began to make herself a cup of coffee as Drakken took several big spoonfuls of the sugary cereal. Already feeling his heart going a mile a minute, he looked at the cereal box closer. On the front was a cartoon of a green T-Rex. Staring at the cartoon, an idea began to form. “DNA cloning!” he exclaimed.

Shego sighed as she sat down at the table and took a sip from her ‘#1 Partner in Crime’ coffee mug Drakken had given to her last year for Christmas. “Again with the cloning? Haven’t you failed at that, like, seven times already?”

“Not human cloning! I’m talking about dinosaur cloning!”

Shego took a very long sip from her mug. “Huh?”

“Yes, it’s perfect!” he said to himself. “I’ll steal some dinosaur DNA, inject it into a lizard or whatever, have it breed, then blast the offspring with a growth ray! I’ll have a giant dinosaur at my disposal that no army can take down, leaving me primed to take over the world! MUAHAHAHAHA!”

Shego took in his plan before responding. “I hate to rain on your sugar-fueled parade, but there are a few flaws with your plan.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Well, for starters, where are you getting a growth ray? Cuz I’m pretty sure Smartymart doesn’t carry them.”

“Mere semantics, Shego. I’ll simply steal one from a top-secret government facility when we get closer to that phase of the plan.”

“Uh-huh, right. Second, this is sounding a bit too like that time you tried to woo DNAmy into helping you create a mutant army and wound up creating a giant dinosaur creature-thing that nearly devoured us whole.”

“Ah, but this time, I won’t rely on those crazy machines Amy uses to splice DNA samples together. It’ll be simply injecting the lizard with DNA, then hitting its offspring with the growth ray I’ll steal.”

“And how will you ensure it’s obedient and won’t immediately eat you?”

“I…I don’t know! A giant spray bottle or dinosaur-controlling whistle should do the trick, I suppose. I’ll just hit them with the growth ray as well.”

Shego shook her head. “That’s not…whatever. Also, you do know lizards aren’t just tiny descendants of dinosaurs, right?”

“They aren’t?”

“No! Birds are their descendants.”

“What?! You’re making that up!”

“I can assure you that I’m not.”

Not believing her, Drakken pulled out his phone and consulted Google. “Huh, it appears you’re right about this ‘bird’ thing, Shego. Very well then. The first step will be me catching a bird to inject!”

Before Shego could respond, Drakken stood up from the table and ran out the kitchen. Sighing, Shego finished her cup of coffee and walked over to the toaster. “It’s way too early for this…”

9 AM:

After finishing breakfast, Shego took a shower. She exited the bathroom with a towel around her waist and her hair when an excited Drakken ran up to her, holding an object behind his back. “Shego! I need to show you what one of the minions found on the island!”

“Can it wait until I have clothes on?”

“Just check this out!”

Drakken revealed he was holding a birdcage. Inside was a seagull, who cocked its head at the sight of Shego and squawked.

“…do I even want to know why you have that thing?”

“Well, you said that birds were the descendants of dinosaurs. And a seagull is a type of bird, is it not?”

“I mean, yeah…”

“Exactly! Now say hello to Barry!”

“You named the seagull ‘Barry’?”

“Yep!”

“Why?”

“Because I thought the little guy looked like a Barry. Now, say hello to Barry, Shego.”

Shego crouched down to meet the bird at eye level. “Uh…how’s it going?”

The bird turned around and began to raise his tail feathers. Realizing what it was about to do, Shego pushed past Drakken and ran towards her room. “Drakken, I just took a shower! Don’t let that thing near me again unless you house-train it!”

“You know, in some cultures, it’s considered good luck for a bird to do its business on you,” Drakken shouted as Shego slammed her door shut. Sighing, he looked down at the seagull. “Don’t worry, Barry. I understand you. Come on, let’s go find some dinosaur DNA for me to steal.”

11 AM:

After getting changed into her green and black jumpsuit and doing her hair and makeup, Shego went into her training room and was wailing on a sandbag with her nemesis Kim Possible’s face taped to the side.

“This is for smudging my lipstick! And this is for breaking my nail two weeks ago!” Shego grunted as she unleashed a flurry of fists and kicks. Stepping back, she lit her hands up with plasma energy and unleashed a diagonal swipe that created a tear in the bag, causing sand to begin to pour out. As this happened, Drakken entered the room.

“Shego!” he barked. “I thought I told you to stop doing that to Sandbag Kim Possible! Do you think those things grow on trees?!”

Shego rolled her eyes and brushed the sand off her shoulders. “Did you find your dinosaur DNA yet?”

Drakken pulled out his phone and opened a webpage. “I’ve been doing some research into that. Turns out, there’s a big scientist convention being held in Palo Alto today!”

“And they didn’t invite you?”

“I assume my invite got lost in the mail. But one of their big presentations is some archeologist presenting a DNA sample of a T-Rex they found on a mosquito that was frozen in amber.”

“So, we’re gonna crash that convention and steal the DNA to further your hair-brained scheme?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘hair-brained’, but yep, that’s the gist!”

Drakken yawned. “But not this minute. I think I’m *yawn* coming down off that sugar high from this morning. I’m gonna take a nap now. I’ll call you when I’m ready to go.”

With that, Drakken left the room. Shego walked over to a giant locker, opened it, and pulled out another sandbag with Kim’s face taped to it. She unhooked the torn bag and attached the new one.

“Alright, Princess,” Shego said, cracking her knuckles. “Time for round two…”

TBC…

#kim possible #doctor drakken #shego kim possible #fanfic #kim possible series

[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Thirty-Two: How The Game Is Played

(Previous Chapter Here)

Yesterday I realized that posting two chapters over Memorial Day weekend was not my best idea, so I waited until today to post the next one I had prepared dhjsgdh

Cole looks at the computer again, blinking a couple times. “You can’t be serious,” he mutters, more to himself than anything.

He flashes the device a glare before turning back towards the main room. “Guys?” He calls. “We’ve got a problem.”

In any other circumstance, it might’ve been funny how quickly Kai bolted in- but as of now, with Zane being gone for over a year, it’s hard to find humor in much of anything.

The others follow soon after, of course, but by that time Kai’s already next to him, a thousand different stressed expressions flashing over his face.

“What’s wrong now?!” He demands, practically vibrating with his intensity.

Cole holds his hands up in a way that’ll hopefully be calming. “Okay, okay, take a deep breath. It’s not that big of an issue, we can figure this out.”

Jay peers over his shoulder, looking at the computer. “Uh. Actually. That looks like a really big issue.” He chuckles nervously, and Cole can already see the freak out that’s coming.

“What is it?” Lloyd prompts, but before Cole can answer, Kai’s already talking.

“Oh hell no!” He protests, concern flashing over to rage. “Is that-“

“A smear campaign.” Cole finishes, looking back over at the site. “Against Lloyd.”

With that, Lloyd comes over. The surprise on his face seems to wither into a more hurt and guilty expression. “I-“

“Alright, I get that we haven’t met in person, but I hate Harumi.” Kai suddenly declares. “So what if Lloyd opened the serpentine tombs?! The Great Devourer was Pythor’s fault! And that was years ago, too! Counting the tea, he was what, eight?! How is that fair?!”

Nya grimaces. “As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point. And with all the chaos we’ve gone through-“

“It’ll be easy to find things to blame on him.” Cole finishes, the realization sinking in.

Jay makes grabby hands at the computer, and Cole rolls his chair back to let him reach it. Glancing over at Lloyd, he fights back a wince at his expression.

“… okay, the serpentine thing is valid. A low blow, but technically valid. But accusing him of purposefully summoning Morro and the Preeminent just to see his dad again? Come on!” The ginger crosses his arms with a scowl, and Cole can see Kai preparing to say- or more likely, shout- something else.

Before he gets the chance, Cole stands up from his seat, intentionally getting everyone’s attention. Forcing confidence that he doesn’t feel into his voice, he tries to redirect the conversation. “Alright, this isn’t ideal,” he admits, “but we need to keep going. There’s gotta be records for times people have won things with a smear campaign against them, right? We can research them and figure out how to counter this.”

Kai opens his mouth, but Nya talks over him. “That’s a good idea,” she agrees. “I don’t think there’s ever been one in an election this big before, but we can definitely get some ideas from that.”

Looking back to Lloyd for confirmation, he sighs internally at the way the blond is still intently staring at the screen, clearly dozens of thoughts flashing through his head.

Putting a hand on Kai’s shoulder, Cole leans down enough to softly whisper in his ear. “Go take Lloyd somewhere he feels calm,” he suggests. “You’ll both be able to do more when he’s doing better.”

For a moment, Kai looks like he wants to argue. But after a glance at his honorary brother, he hesitates, and then gives a small nod.

“C’mon, Green Bean, let’s go take a break.” He starts guiding Lloyd away, and even though the blond looks conflicted, he lets himself be led out of the room.

With that, Cole turns back to Jay and Nya. “How about you guys do that research?” He offers. “I can do some digging on Harumi while you do.”

“Sounds good.” Nya gives a nod and looks over at Jay. When the ginger keeps staring at the computer, she sighs, glancing back at Cole.

Tapping Jay on the shoulder, Cole waits for him to look back. “Huh?” The other frowns, clearly not having been paying attention.

“With me, Sparky. I’ll give you the rundown.” Nya grabs his arm, and Jay gives a guilty smile.

“Let’s go, then,” he nods his agreement as she leads him out.

Once the two have left, Cole turns back to the computer, giving the campaign- or more accurately, slander- another glare. But he quickly changes gears, opening a new webpage.

“Alright, Harumi…” he mutters, beginning to type out her name.

“Let’s find out just why you’re so desperate to win.”

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

Sentry narrows his eyes at his internal screen, trying again to get answers.

It’s obvious at this point that the direct approach isn’t working. It’s been thirteen months since Zane was taken- meaning Cryptor has been there for over two and a half years.

So they’re still working on this election plan, unable to do anything that might have a more immediate effect. It’s not ideal, but at least he’s begun to make some progress.

Actually… hang on. He might have something here. Another thing on the candidate running, Rune Duncan. He’s seen enough about Harumi to know that she’ll be the competition no matter what, but if he plays his cards right, he might be able to work with Rune enough to-

Perfect. According to this security camera, Rune was last seen entering a shady part of town- a place that usually only gangs meet up.

Hmm. If Sentry can’t get him to help, then maybe he can at least get some blackmail on him.

As he heads out, he sends a message to Dad letting him know that he’ll be out for a while- he knows that he’s been working on rescuing Cryptor, so he probably won’t need a rundown on what exactly he’s doing.

It takes him only about fifteen minutes to reach where Rune was last seen- Borg Tower isn’t exactly close, but with this, Sentry is nothing if not determined.

Quietly, he makes his way down the alley where the candidate was last seen. This place is insanely suspicious, so he-

“And what are you doing here?” A voice behind him prompts.

Flinching, Sentry spins around. How did this guy sneak up on him?! With all the sensors he has, it-

Wait. Looking over the guy’s dark ginger hair and tanned skin, he suddenly recognizes him.

“Looking for you, actually.” Sentry forces a smile he doesn’t feel as he studies Rune. “My name’s Sentry. I’m the general of Borg’s security forces.”

Rune arches an eyebrow, but all Sentry can think of is how out of place he looks in this back alley with a three-piece suit. There’s definitely something going on here.

“Huh. Well, you found me. Is there something you need?” He sounds unimpressed and maybe even a little annoyed. But there’s no way Sentry’s going to back out now.

“Yeah, actually. I wanted to ask you a couple questions.” Sentry keeps his forced smile, but he knows the other can see past it- he’s not exactly trying to hide his malice, anyway. “Maybe a bit about your past, if you don’t mind.”

Rune tenses for a moment, but then relaxes. But even then, the discomfort is still visible on his face- even though he seems to be trying to hide it. “And if I decline?”

Letting his smile turn cold, Sentry looks him dead in the eyes. “Y’know, I wonder what the public would think if they heard about a finalist in the Emperor Election poking around in a place like this. I don’t think that would look too good for them, now would it?”

There’s a tense moment, both of them staring each other down. Sentry doesn’t break eye contact- instead, he lets them glow an even brighter red in an unspoken threat.

Actually, it’s longer than a moment. Time seems to stretch on as the two of them glare into each other’s eyes. He’d check his internal clock to see how long it’s been, but that would involve glancing away, and he refuses to be the one who flinches first.

After what feels like an eternity, Rune looks off to the side with a growl, crossing his arms.

“Ask away.”

The tenseness coming off of him clearly shows that he’s got something to hide. And one way or another, Sentry’s going to find out what.

“Alright.” He pauses a beat before choosing to lead with a statement instead of a question- though it’ll hopefully get him more answers then outright asking.

“Whoever made you this fake identity did a horrible job.” Rune’s eyes widen the smallest amount, but Sentry keeps talking. “I dug everything up in a matter of weeks. The family tree, the missing records, the faulty information… honestly, I’m surprised that I’m the first person to realize.”

The ginger clenches his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Seriously? That’s got to be one of the most transparent bluffs he’s ever seen.

“I think you do, actually. I’d just like to know why you can’t run with your real one. You got something to hide, Rune?” He puts a little too much emphasis on the name, making sure the other gets the point.

There’s the beginning of another stare down, and this time instead of indulging him, Sentry tries something else.

Not breaking eye contact, he runs a scan on the other- maybe he can compare it to the ones in the criminal database and…

His thoughts clatter to a halt as he looks at the results.

“Oh,” he gets out. “That’s why.”

The other starts to say something, but Sentry speaks before he can as he finally fully processes the information.

“You’re a nindroid, too.” He breathes.

And he is. The scan shows it, he- Sentry’s never seen such a believable hologram as a disguise, but there’s no other explanation! That-

‘Rune’ narrows his eyes, and Sentry notices him starting to draw a blade from behind his back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats, this time with more force.

Taking a step back, Sentry lets the possible scenarios flash through his head, struggling to figure out what the hell is going on. The design doesn’t match Cryptor or Zane’s, and it most certainly doesn’t match the ones Dad did, so-

“Who built you? Why are you doing this? Do you- do you not know what’s at stake here?! Who even are you-?!”

He’s cut off when he’s tackled, the move so abrupt that he can’t counter. He struggles underneath him, but in less than a heartbeat, there’s a blade pressed between his scope and skin- a spot that underneath connects almost directly between his CPU and motor functions.

The cloak drops, and he stares at the other’s metallic skin, worn and scratched from who knows how many battles.

Red eyes boring into his own, Sentry feels himself almost shiver at the dark, smug expression the other nindroid has.

“You want to know my real name? Fine.” The voice suddenly has a more distorted, robotic lit to it, his vocal box not hiding his true nature with the cloak dropped. “I doubt you’ll get the chance to use it…”

“But I’m known as Mr. E.”

#the rights of a nindroid #trauma #psychological torture #torture #ninjago fanfiction #angst #zangst

[twomoonstwosuns]

friends.

back to you [series masterlist]

previous part · next part

pairing: professor!poe dameron x reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, sweet fluff for the entire thing, age gap (reader over 18)

word count: 4.0k

a/n: feeling kinda meh about this chapter, i apologize if it’s not my best. enjoy the fluff, because we’re about to dive into some drama.

*updated masterlist with info about the number of remaining chapters! (but give me like 10 minutes so I can find the post and link things)

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“Is the Wi-Fi working for you?”

Poe looked up from his computer when you didn’t answer. Your head was propped up against your hand as you stared at the screen. “Y/N?”

You hummed, tearing your eyes away from the screen. “Sorry, what?”

He gave you a humorous smile. “Are you connected to the Wi-Fi?”

You glanced down at the bars at the top of your screen. “Um…oh, I guess not.”

Poe got up from the table to reset the router. You leaned back in your chair, head hanging over the back so your hair cascaded down the back of it, and groaned quietly. It was a late Sunday afternoon and you were sitting at Poe’s kitchen table doing homework. He had his computer open too, though you weren’t entirely sure what he was doing. A comfortable silence accompanied by soft music fell over you, interrupted only by the clacking of the keyboard. Beebs was off being Beebs. He had been bouncing between you and Poe, demanding attention until you finally caved. After a game of fetch with the purple dragon you bought for him that allowed you to procrastinate for all of two minutes, Beebs trotted off towards Poe’s bedroom to chew on his new favorite toy. Then you were stuck working again. You were quickly losing the will to concentrate, your head throbbing with exhaustion.

“What’s eatin’ you?” You lifted your head to see Poe back in his spot, arms crossed over his chest and an observant look on his face.

“This business marketing paper. The boring part of marketing,” you said, shutting your computer and pushing it away from you. “I need a break. What’re you working on?”

Poe just sighed heavily. You walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and peering at his laptop. There were multiple documents and webpages up.

“What’s eating you?”

Poe looked stressed. He grabbed your hand, bringing you around to perch on his lap. Your arm rested around his neck as his went around your waist to secure you in place.

“I’m…looking at Snoke’s dissertations, his research, the department head job…anything to give me an advantage.”

“Any word on when the interview is?”

“Not yet, but I got the names of some of the people interviewing for the position.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Armitage Hux?”

You narrowed your eyes as you thought. The name sounded familiar so you figured he was someone who taught at the university, but you didn’t know him personally. “I think I’ve heard the name before. If he’s a professor here, I haven’t had him.”

“Consider yourself lucky. He’s a pretentious jackass who thinks he’s above everyone else. Takes after Snoke.”

“Tell me how you really feel about him,” Poe snickered and gave your waist a squeeze. “Well, you’re the complete opposite of him, so I’d say that’s an advantage already. If there’s anything I can do to help you, let me know.”

Poe rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Resting your head against his, you ran your hand through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to make me fall asleep,” he said, leaning into your touch. You smiled at the pet name, a warm feeling settling in your chest.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Poe rested his head on your shoulder, his nose nuzzling your collarbone. You continued running your fingers through his hair, a content groan coming from him as he completely relaxed. Moments like these were few and far between and greatly cherished, when you could just relax in each other’s embrace. There was no sneaking around, no pretending like you weren’t a couple in a room full of people. You could just be together.

Beebs suddenly barked loudly from Poe’s bedroom, startling the both of you out of your peaceful state. You looked towards the noise. “What’s gotten into him?”

Poe reluctantly unwound his arms from your waist, looking towards the room as Beebs’ barks turned to huffs.

“Maybe he found a mouse,” Poe said, smirking when you glared at him.

“That’s not funny!” You yelled after him.

A loud knock on the door startled you again. You could hear Poe talking to Beebs, which meant he hadn’t heard the door. You tiptoed over to the door to peak through the peephole when you heard a loud, booming voice.

“Poe Dameron, I know you’re alive in there!”

Yanking the door open, you immediately recognized the man and woman on the other side, but their faces showed confusion as they looked at you.

“You are not Poe,” the man said with a joking tone to his voice. You laughed.

“No, but I know you,” you pointed between the two visitors. “You’re Finn, and you’re Rey.” You recognized them from the pictures Poe had around his apartment and on his office desk.

“Is Poe here?” Rey asked kindly, and you snapped out of your thoughts.

“Oh my god, yeah, I’m sorry.” You stood aside, letting them in. “Poe!”

Poe came out of his room with Beebs hot on his heels and you saw his face light up when he saw Finn.

“Buddy!” He engulfed Finn in a giant hug, patting him on the back. It had been far too long since they’d seen each other, and the reunion of two best friends made you smile. “What’re you doing here?!”

“I’m on leave for two weeks, had to come say hi. And I managed to steal Peanut from Florida for a few days.”

Poe found Rey from over Finn’s shoulder and grabbed her in a bear hug, lifting her from the ground. They both leaned down to say hi to Beebs, the happy dog hungry for their affection, as he laid on the ground with his belly open for scratches.

“Guys,” Poe beckoned you over to him. “This is Y/N. Y/N, this is—“

“Finn and Rey, I know,” you smiled, shaking both of his friends’ hands. “It’s so great to meet you, I’ve heard so many good things about the both of you.”

“Oh god, now I have to know what he said.” Finn joked. “Are you sticking around a bit longer?”

You grabbed the phone out of your pocket and grimaced at the time. “Another time, I actually have to head out.”

Beebs grabbed Finn and Rey’s attention once again, showing off a toy in hopes they’d play with him.

“You know you can stay, right?” Poe questioned quietly as you packed up your belongings.

“I know, but Karé’s expecting me home to help her study and if I’m not there soon, she will kill me,” you explained, really wishing you hadn’t made the promise to your friend so you could stay. “Besides, it’s not everyday you get a surprise visit from your best friends. You haven’t seen them in months; you need to catch up with them. I’ll see you later.”

Poe smiled appreciatively and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. You whispered a goodbye to him before politely waving to Finn and Rey.

“So that’s your girl, huh?” Rey asked as the front door clicked shut, elbowing Poe in the ribs and wiggling her eyebrows. Poe looked from the door to his friends and back, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

》 》 》

The nerves were back in your belly.

Finn and Rey still wanted to get to know you, so they suggested drinks. This felt as big as meeting the parents. Finn and Rey were important and if they didn’t like you…you didn’t want to think about it.

You drove over to Poe’s apartment and he intercepted you before you could head inside, instead getting into his waiting car. Your phone rang and you pressed a finger to your lips as Poe opened his mouth to say hi.

“Hi, mom.”

“You will never guess who’s back in town.”

“I know Ben is, but who else?”

“Ben told you, good! Well his father’s back, too. They want to know if we want to have dinner with them and his mother, and they want you and Tallie to come too. Are you available Wednesday night?”

“You’re going to make me drive an hour home just for that?”

“Please, honey? They really want to see you. If it’ll get you here, I’ll pay for your gas.”

You threw your head back against the seat of the car, groaning inaudibly in discontent.

“If it’ll make you happy, fine. But you’re paying me back for gas.”

“Thank you, honey. I’ll let them know and I’ll text you when we settle on a time and place.”

“Sounds good, unfortunately I gotta go, I’m actually a little busy right now.”

Bidding your mother goodbye, you hung up and tossed your phone into your bag. Poe raised his eyebrows. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, apparently I get to drive all the way home to go out to dinner with some family friends who just got back to town,” you said, still confused as to why it was so imperative that you attend. “So…we’re not going inside?”

“Finn found a place an hour away. He figured we might like that since we’re always at my apartment.”

“Wow,” you said softly, awed at the sweetness of the gesture of someone who was still practically a stranger. “That’s so nice of him.”

“He likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“I’ve told him enough.”

“Oh yeah? What have you told him about me?”

“All the good stuff. Like how you snore.”

“I do not!” You swatted his arm. Poe grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and kissing your knuckles. He didn’t let go for the entire hour-long drive.

When you got to the bar, Poe grabbed your hand outside of the car and kissed you in the parking lot. Because there was no one around who could tell on you.  

Finn and Rey had already arrived, commandeering a booth in the corner that wasn’t hiding from the action in the bar but a little out of the way to ensure some privacy. You sat down nervously as Finn joined Poe at the bar to get drinks.

“Can I just clarify something before Poe comes back?” You blurted as soon as Rey opened her mouth to speak. She nodded. “I’m not using Poe to get a good grade or whatever.”

“Relax,” Rey laughed. You blushed, muttering an apology and wondering where Poe was with drinks. “We never thought you were. Poe’s told us enough where we never even considered it.”

You felt your shoulders relax. “Ok, now I have to know what he said.”

Rey eyed the guys coming back to the table and gave you a look that said you’d talk about it later. You took a long swig of your beer, bursting into giggles with Rey at the reason why. Poe shook his head.

“Do I want to know?” He asked as he put his arm around the back of the booth and you shook your head as you patted his knee.

“Nope. Our secret.” You clinked your bottle against Rey’s and Poe felt excitement in his veins that you and Rey were already getting along.

“All right Y/N, there’s a few things Poe didn’t tell us about you,” Finn said. “What’s your major?”

“Marketing, which will let me do pretty much anything.”

“Do you know what you’re doing after school?”

“Not even in the slightest. I probably should start setting up job interviews though.”

“Family?”

“Mom, older sister, brother-in-law.”

“Is this twenty questions? Because if it is, it’s totally one-sided.” Poe interrupted.

“We’re doing a crash course on Y/N. Pun intended.” Finn said, making Poe roll his eyes.

“Ok fine, but let me sneak in a question or two.” You said. “Family?”

Poe’s eyes flickered between his two friends as he tensed beside you. You froze, realizing you might’ve struck a nerve but not knowing how. Your nerves were back in full force, a warm uncomfortable feeling settling in your chest.

“We were foster kids,” Finn said. “I never knew my birth parents.”

“And my parents died when I was five.” Rey added. They sounded so nonchalant about it, like they’ve said it a million times. A sorrowful look crossed your face.

“Don’t be sorry.” Rey shook her head, placing her hand on yours. “We got lucky with loving families and it made us who we are.”

“And we’re awesome, so…”

You admired their perspective. You weren’t very familiar with the foster system, knowing only what you know through word-of-mouth and poor TV portrayal, but you knew enough to know that kids sometimes ended up in bad situations when they all deserved good situations. And you were grateful that Finn and Rey ended up with good families.

“My dad walked out on my family six months ago to be with his mistress and we didn’t hear from him for two weeks,” you admitted, breaking the tense silence. Poe squeezed your hand. “Since we’re swapping family stories.”

Finn and Rey were silent before bursting out laughing, which caused you to laugh, and then Poe laughed. Uncomfortable family situations you had no control over whatsoever wouldn’t ruin a good time.

You learned that Rey was incredibly gifted and the youngest engineer at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida, working between engine maintenance on planes and shuttles to computer data processing. She had two rescue cats named Ochi and Deo and hated the humidity of Florida but loved the ocean and the lush green of the Everglades.

Finn was a Staff Sergeant in the Air Force based in California, quickly rising through the ranks with his skill and natural leadership abilities. He had just been assigned to the base in California and he was still getting used to all the sun. He and Poe met in high school first and made a plan to join the Air Force together until Poe’s father got sick. The band had been Finn’s idea, having spent three weeks holding auditions until he found his bandmates.

“Your friends are cooler than mine,” you said quietly to Poe before turning back to Finn and Rey. “So NASA engineer and Air Force pilot/sergeant. Definitely cooler than a famous musician.”

“Poe told you about that?” Finn asked. “Did he tell you about Skywalker Records?”

“Only that they were interested in you.”

“Well, we actually sat down with the founder Luke and Poe was so nervous that he tripped over his own feet and broke one of his Grammy’s.”

You wanted to feel bad for your boyfriend, but instead you busted out laughing. Poe groaned in embarrassment and you leaned into him, patting his stomach. You and Poe were probably a little touchy feely given that you with his friends, but if they had a problem with it they didn’t seem to care. You never got to act like a couple in public and you were taking full advantage of it.

“So, are you excited to graduate?” Rey asked. You nodded, but deep in the back of your mind you didn’t want to think about graduating, entering the real world and leaving the comfort of a daily school routine. And, ultimately, the possibility of leaving Poe.

“It’s been a long ride and sometimes I think I’ll forget everything I learned,” you vented. “And sometimes I feel like all college has done for me is teach me how to function on very little sleep and how to get really good at Mario Kart, like those skills are going to take me far.”

“Depending on what you end up doing, working on no sleep can help you.” Rey answered. Poe shot her a look.

“Don’t encourage it, it’s not healthy.”

“But it’s true.”

“You any good?” Finn interrupted, looking directly at you.

“At not sleeping? Very.”

“No, at Mario Kart.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Finn huffed and you furrowed your brow. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Finn said, giving you a challenging look. “I just so happen to be the King of Mario Kart.”

You arched your eyebrow. Poe and Rey were looking at the both of you humorously.

“How good?”

And that’s how you found yourself back in Poe’s apartment, moving the coffee table out of the way while Poe hooked up the gaming system.

“How do you want to do this? No matter how good you think you are, your thumb is going to cramp after a couple of races. We’re going to need a break.”

“You don’t think you’re playing alone, do you?” Poe asked, looking between you and Finn. “You’re my girlfriend and all, Y/N, but I’m going to kick your ass.”

A smirk grew on your face. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.” Poe stalked towards you, leaning down to your ear. “Just remember that I always win.”

Undoubtedly a little turned on, you had never been more determined to beat someone for. And Poe knew it.

“Fine. Finn and Poe against me and Y/N,” Rey said. “I hope you’re both prepared to get your ass kicked by a couple of girls.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Finn said, handing over a controller. Poe came back into the living room with a piece of paper and a pen.

“We’ll keep track of the points from each set of races. Whoever tallies the most at the end wins.”

As you picked your characters, Mario and Luigi respectively, Rey pulled you aside. “I think they’re strategizing,” she whispered, looking at Finn and Poe, who were huddled up together. Beebs just lay in the middle of the floor with his tail wagging, just wanting to be included.

“What is there to strategize on? You just race,” you said.

“I have an idea. Go for the speeder.” Rey said. “Finn will most likely go with something flashy that has better acceleration but the speeder is easier to control, which will give you the advantage when you get to the harder courses.”

You pointed at her with a smirk. “Good thinking.”

It was back and forth, round after round. You’d win a couple. Finn would win a couple. Then Rey, then Poe. Both teams took to over-the-top celebrations. The guys danced, you and Rey chest bumped. Celebratory shots after each round made their way into the game.

You were having the time of your life.

Entering the final race, the score was incredibly close, the guys leading you by six points. You needed to finish at least fifth in order to beat them. It was you and Finn, battling it out over who’d be crowned the best at Mario Kart. You had just gained the lead when you felt Poe’s hands on your hips. You tried to shake them off, but he wouldn’t budge. You ignored him, but he suddenly wrapped one arm around your waist and started pulling backwards away from the TV.

“Oh hell no! Poe!” you laughed, fighting against the pull, but it was useless. “Rey!”

You grabbed your partner’s attention and tossed her the remote as Poe pulled you back by the couch. You cheered victoriously when Rey got back on course and managed to pull back just behind Finn. You stopped fighting against Poe and rested your arms on top of his, hip-checking him as he buried his face in your neck and wrapped his other arm around you.

“You are such a cheater!” You were giggling uncontrollably as Poe placed kisses wherever he could. He kissed up your neck to your cheek.

“I’m sorry you didn’t think of it,” Poe said against your cheek, with humor in his voice. His lips moved all over your cheek. You turned your face and caught his lips, which he kissed multiple times as you laughed. The joyful crinkles by your eyes matched his.

Finn and Rey glanced at each other with knowing smirks. Their best friend was completely smitten.

Poe rested his chin on your shoulder as you both watched your partners finish the race. He subconsciously tightened his grip around you as Finn and Rey became neck and neck, you cheering as Rey crossed the finish line. She didn’t finish first, but she did beat Finn. Poe released you as you went to high-five Rey, picking up the pad of paper and writing down the scores. You waited anxiously as they tallied up the results.

“We win!”

You and Rey protested, grabbing the paper to double check the math. They had indeed won, and you knew Poe wasn’t going to let you live it down.

“A worthy competitor,” you stuck your hand out to Finn, who shook it. Poe stuck out his hand and you shook your head. “Not happening.”

He gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him. “That’s not very friendly.”

“You and me: rematch.”

“It’s a date.”

He pecked your lips and grabbed the bottles of alcohol to put away. “It’s late, do you guys just want to crash here? I’ve got the guest room and the couch.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Rey said, looking at Finn who nodded. “Go take Beebs out, we know where your extra blankets and pillows are.”

While Poe took Beebs out, you helped Finn and Rey get the couch set up, turned off lights, and shut things down for the night. You met them in the middle of the living room, not quite ready to say good night.

“You know, I really admire how strong you’ve kept your friendship after all these years while being thousands of miles apart,” you commented. “I’m terrified of what’s going to happen with my friends here and my friends from high school.”

“Sometimes you just find people in your life who are worth the effort. Rey and Poe are that for me. And you seem to be that way for Poe.”

“So, does that mean I’ve got your approval?”

Finn and Rey glanced at each other before looking back at you. You gave them a knowing look in return.

“Damn, she’s observant,” Finn whispered loudly.

“Not that we should have any say over who Poe chooses to date,” Rey stated. “But yes.”

You gave them a small smile, whispering your thanks that was interrupted with a loud yawn from Finn.

“Sorry, it’s exhausting kicking ass,” Finn said. Both you and Rey rolled your eyes.

“I’ll get better by beating Poe and the next time you come up, we’ll play.”

“Deal.”

It was your turn to yawn, the sleepy ambiance of the apartment practically pushing you towards bed.

“Go to bed, we’ll talk in the morning.” Rey said, hugging you. You were surprised by the action, but hugged her back nonetheless. Finn tapped you on the shoulder as you pulled away from Rey.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do with friends in the next room over.” Finn warned, pulling you into a hug. You chuckled.

“Poe’s gonna gloat all night, so don’t worry. It’s not happening.”

You caught Poe’s eye as he came in the door and seeing you hugging his friend. You expected him to give you a look for talking about him while he was gone, but instead you saw him carefully watching you with a smile on his face as he took off his coat. After just a couple of hours, you were getting along with two of the most important people in his life.

He couldn’t help but be happy.

tag list [open] - @ah-callie @darksideofclarke @gloomygoregirl @leilei-draws @imaginecrushes @i-ievu @brianamaree @yeeintensifies @spider-starry @krazykatkay456 @fanfiction-trashpile @afootnoteinyourhappiness @easterncryptid @my-child-gaara @myrandom-fandomlife @onebatch--twobatch @the-cry-of-youth @p3nny4urth0ught5 @porgiez @umchrisevans @galaxy-of-stories @seeking-a-great--perhaps 

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x reader insert #modern au #modern poe dameron #poe dameron fanfiction #back to you series

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Thirty-One

Masterpost

The messages came flooding in. Virgil didn’t even have to write anything else of his own for a while. It seemed that with an outlet for it there were a number of people with stories to tell. He just took the messages and posted them across all the platforms, shocked at the views and follows he was getting so quickly.

Of course, as the day went on, the ratio of hate to stories kept growing, and Virgil grimaced going through the inboxes.

And then his pages were reported, and shut down suddenly.

Virgil swallowed heavily. Was it really over? Just like that?

He called Logan.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Logan.”

“Ahh, Virgil. How is everything going? I was about to look.”

“Not… not so great. It was really good for a while, I got nearly five hundred followers and it’s just been a morning, but then I got reported and now I can’t do anything anymore.”

“Oh. No, I anticipated this possibility. I’ll make you new accounts. You may have to restart a few times, but you certainly can continue with this.”

Virgil let out a sigh, the weight of failure mostly leaving him. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. It will take me perhaps an hour to create the new accounts. In the meantime, perhaps you would consider making some photographic or video content.”

“Like what?”

There was an awkward pause. “If you feel up to it, I believe pictures of your scars, or a video in which you describe how you came to have them might be particularly moving.”

Virgil's brain flashed images and sensations at him, making him a bit dizzy. “... yeah. Yeah, I can see that.”

“Virgil, if you are uncomfortable with the idea—“

“No, I can do it.” Virgil interrupted.

“Truly, I do not want to pressure you into something you would rather not do.”

Virgil smiled slightly, even though Logan wasn’t there to see it. “Thank you. I’ll just try. I’m sure if I take it too far Patton will stop me.”

“That seems reasonable. I’ll work on your new accounts, please call or text me if you need anything else.”

“I will, thanks. Bye.”

Even though he’d just told Logan that Patton would be sure to make him stop if he needed, he didn’t think he wanted Patton to help. At least not so directly. It was going to be hard enough, and if Patton was there and all teary he wasn’t sure he could make it.

So he went to find Roman.

Roman very quickly hid what had to be a knife again, as he had the log in front of him. “Did you need something, Tall, Dark, and Emo?”

Virgil fidgeted awkwardly. He didn’t want to bother Roman, really, he’d just probably need someone there, if only to hold the camera and be supportive.

“Um… I was going to make a video? Of— scars. And I was wondering if you’d want to help.”

“Yeah, of course I’ll help. Is this for the internet?”

Virgil nodded.

“Ok, then we’ll probably want to hang up sheets around you. If they can tell we’re in a cabin that wouldn’t be good.”

Virgil nodded again, letting out a long breath. It was nice not to have to just jump into it, even though he was the one deciding to actually make the video.

“Should I be covered in a sheet?” Virgil asked. “So they don’t recognize my clothes?”

Roman snorted. “No you’re— I see where you’re going with that, but if it looks like you’re naked under a sheet that would be an entirely different kind of video.”

Virgil realized the implications a second later, blushing hotly. It was strange, almost, blushing. He hadn’t been able to for so long— though it hadn’t even really been all that long. But it still felt a bit foreign to him now.

There was a little more sheet arranging before Virgil sat down and Roman sat in front of him, holding the phone.

“Alright, now we can clip out anything you want,” Roman said. “So if you say something, and you don’t like it, or if you stumble over your words, don’t worry, just do it over again and we can clip that bit out.”

Virgil nodded, his breathing speeding up as he got more and more nervous. “Ok… you can turn the camera on now.”

“It’s been on, Stormcloud. Just explain it like you’re explaining to me. Nothing fancy.”

Virgil nodded, clenching his jaw slightly. “Ok. Um…”

He rolled up his sleeves a little, showing off the marks the cuffs had left. “These are… from the coffin.” His voice was shaking and he wasn’t sure he could really do this.

“It’s alright. Why don’t you tell me what the coffin is?”

Virgil pressed his lips together, tears starting to well up. “It’s— it’s a coffin. But it has silver cuffs in it. It’s so— it’s cause if it was normal I could’ve— I might have been able to break out. But the silver hurts so bad— it’s to-to much to fight against and I—“ his voice broke and he stopped, tears now running down his face.

“Do you want to be done?” Roman asked, his voice soft and non-judgmental.

Virgil sniffed and nodded, rubbing at his face with his sleeves. “Sorry.”

“No, hey, you did just fine. That was very hard for you, and you did just fine.”

Virgil just nodded, not looking up.

“Do you want a hug?” Roman asked.

Virgil nodded again miserably, trying to stop from crying and failing dismally, especially when Roman wrapped him up and held him close.

There was footsteps, that quickened as they got closer, and then Patton was kneeling beside them, his hand rubbing soft circles on Virgil’s back. “Ohhh, baby, what happened?”

Virgil wasn’t sure that he liked being called baby, but he could recognize the attempt at comfort and glanced up at Roman, pleading with his eyes for Roman to tell it.

“We were trying to make a video explaining his scars,” Roman said simply.

“Ohhhhh,” Patton said, joining in the hug.

They let him go before the hug could become stifling, and Patton suggested that they do something like a card game for a while.

•^*^••

Thomas sighed heavily, glad that both Dee and Remus were off doing something and couldn’t hear him. He knew Dee was tired, and he was also tired. But he was torn. He wanted to help still, not just take a break, even though a large part of his body and mind was constantly begging him to just stop for a while.

And then his phone rang, startling him nearly out of his camping chair. He hadn’t expected to have service, but apparently he did.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Thomas!” Emile said cheerfully. “Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”

Thomas froze, his mouth already midway to saying ‘fine’. “To be honest, I’m really tired.”

“I imagine. You three had the most exhausting job.”

Thomas nodded, sighing. “Yeah. They’re out now doing part of it.”

“You’re doing a good job. Logan’s been tracking all your little distractions, and sometimes bigger distractions.” Emile chuckled. “No one’s gone near Virgil.”

“That’s good,” Thomas said.

“I think… though this would have to be discussed, that you can take it easier now. I’m sure Remy would clear out a house for you to stay in for a few weeks.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said. And he really was genuinely appreciative, but it just made him more aware that his own house was standing empty, and would stay that way. Bills unpaid. He would never be Thomas Sanders anymore, not officially, unless he wanted to be arrested not only for helping vampires but also for not paying all the things he was supposed to be.

“It’ll get better someday,” Emile said gently. “And we can hold out until then together.”

Thomas nodded, humming his agreement.

“Do you want me to just stay on the line for a while?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, surprised to find that his voice was wobbling slightly. “Can you just… talk about something? Something not this?”

“Sure I can. Have you ever heard of finger-knitting?”

Emile stayed on the phone, talking about his experiments with finger knitting for a solid half-hour until Dee and Remus got back. Thomas handed off the phone to Dee, who probably also needed a bit of a talk with someone that had it all together still.

“Hey, Remus.”

Remus peeked up immediately upon being given attention.

“Do you wanna try sparring? You’d have to go waaay easy on me, but—“

“That sounds awesome!” Remus said, tackling Thomas almost immediately.

Thomas fought to get out, and Remus was clearly having the time of his life, grinning wildly and pushing Thomas around. There was no holding back on Thomas’s end, growling and thrashing and hitting.

“Oh yeah, getting all the frustration out!” Remus crowed, not even bothering to dodge most of the time, just wrestling Thomas down and letting him fight his way back up.

Finally Thomas was done, and bone-tired. He dropped onto his sleeping bag despite it being only afternoon and fell into a dreamless sleep.

•^*^••

Emile had been on the phone for the last hour, which meant, very unfortunately, that Remy was watching over Logan’s shoulder the entire time he was setting up Virgil’s new accounts and then still while he edited the video and prepared it for posting.

“Poor kid,” Remy murmured.

That, at least, Logan could agree with, nodding slightly as he clipped the video down to the essential part and put a black bar in where Virgil’s head had dropped too low and part of his face could be seen.

“Will you want me and Dee and Remus to make these too?”

“Quite frankly, it is up to you,” Logan replied. “If you think your story would be helpful, and you are willing, then by all means please do.”

He posted the video around, carefully covering any tracks he may have left, and was not surprised to see it quickly gain traction. He considered himself to be reasonably skilled at creating ‘clickbait’ titles, and clearly that skill was paying off now.

And then came the comments. They seemed split, roughly a third expressing sympathy towards Virgil, and two thirds disbelief in the validity of the video, thinking it to be acting.

The video was spreading quickly, more quickly than Logan would’ve guessed.

Remy whistled lowly. “If I’d’ve known this was all it took I would’ve been famous.”

“The current climate is a large part of why, as well as the fact that I’ve classified this video as an ad, which gives it a further initial reach.”

Remy snorted. “Ad for what?”

Logan shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Clicking the link merely leads to a webpage playing the video.”

“And you set all this up today?”

“Last night as well, but yes. I’m…” Logan found himself nearly blushing. “I’ve always been reasonably skilled with computers, more the internet aspect than the hardware, but I’ve never had much of an outlet for using that skill.”

“Damn, you with computers and Roman with his acting, being hunters really took a lot from you didn’t it?”

Logan was taken aback. “I… suppose it did. I hadn’t considered that.”

Remy slapped him on the back. “Well now you get that back. Oh! Maybe when all this settles you can help Roman get famous.”

Logan blinked, his mind whirring so fast he thought he might get dizzy. He could’ve. He could’ve this whole time. How had he never…? How had he seriously not considered that?

•^*^••

“Sir?”

Liam bristled. He’d asked not to be bothered. It was an extremely frustrating moment for him, as he’d finally followed the trail to a house, spending many resources, as it wasn’t a simple trail to follow, but it was the house that the vampire had lived in before they’d first captured it.

“What do you want?” He bit out.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir. There’s a video, and I was asked to be sure you had seen it. It’s of a vampire?”

Liam growled low in his throat. “I swear, if this is another dead end!” He snatched the phone out of the man’s hand.

The vampire in the video was shaking and sniveling, but more importantly, the scars on its arms were very familiar to Liam. This was the one.

“Have this traced. Now!”

The man jumped into action, taking his phone back and running off with it.

He’d better have some actually useful information by tomorrow or he was going to explode.

#sanders sides #vampire au #vampires #blood #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #emile picani #remy sleep #my own work #coffin #violence #speciesism #vampire virgil #platonic moxiety

[beckinblack61]

Welp.

How ironic that after hoping to write daily, I forget to post the day after starting. Oh well. Was this a lofty, stupid idea? Yes, highly likely. Am I considering deleting my account after no more than 5 days since making it? Possibly. Will I? Probably not.

So, may this post make up for my missing yesterday’s.

Today’s Topic: Careers?

At one point in time, as we all are when young, I had everything planned out. I knew that it was my goal to attend an Ivy League school and become a certified public accountant. And then, I wanted to be an astrophysicist immediately after reading Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Astrophysics for People in a Hurry. That was all in either 7th or 8th grade, during lovely middle school, just before heading off to high school, where everyone thought we would suddenly become confident, cool, and sure-footed, and set out on our individual destinies.

Then high school came along and through wrenches into all of those plans. I’m a current senior who is graduating in only a few months. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve panicked over the thought of having to choose a career, a major, or area of study. The question of “What do you want to be when you grow up?” suddenly became real and terrifying. For a while I thought about pursuing a career in art. Then my lack of any art skills and confidence proved that unlikely. I’ve thought about a career in writing, although similarly that idea is completely out of the window now.

For a little while, between a month or a year, it really felt like I had no purpose, no place in life where I fit confidently and successfully. I felt like college would be a total waste and that the idea of a “career” simply didn’t fit me. Frankly, I felt like a failure. I believed I hit my peak early in high school or even middle school as the student with straight A’s who was on every teacher’s good side. I was that kid who was called “gifted” early on and doomed to then only live to fulfill other’s expectations of me. Straight A’s became a standard, not anything great but just what was expected from me, and anything less, even a B+, meant I was suddenly “giving up” in my mother’s eyes. If I wasn’t outperforming the majority of my classmates, I was nothing. I’ve panicked a handful of times to the point of breaking over lack-luster grades. And me, being extremely unathletic, introverted, unsocial, and quiet, was defined only by my grades, by my academic success. I had nothing else to my name.

I realized this, and I felt lost. Throughout my life I’ve been told that I would be great at whatever I tried to be, by a lot of people. But, whenever I tried to picture myself in a career or at a job, I was never, ever, confident in myself, and I hardly ever felt passionate about the idea of a specific career path. Again, as I’ve said, I really felt like I had peaked early and was only on a path headed downhill from then on.

Thankfully, quite recently, I’ve seemed to have broken out of those destructive mindsets, and am doing a lot better mentally than I have been in the past few years. I couldn’t really tell you what changed, but a few things somewhat come to mind. 

As of recent, I’ve become a lot more confident with my gender identity and sexuality, albeit I’m not out of the closet yet. I think not understanding that before added to the stress of picturing myself at a career, especially since now I know, somewhat, who I picture myself as in the future. If I pictured a feminine girl at a career, of course I would feel uninspired by it, regardless of the career but because of the person I thought I had to be, since I now know I’m not meant to be a feminine girl.

Also, I’ve become for comfortable with the idea of failure. Of course, I don’t want to fail or anything like that, but I’m okay if I do. It’s only human to at some point or another, if not even frequently.

This ties into the previous two I feel like, but I’ve become ready to learn about myself. I used to think I had to already know who I was, what I wanted to be, what I was destined for, before even becoming it, if that makes sense. Now I know that I have to try something before knowing if I’ll like it or not, at least in most cases. I’m open to discovering if a career fits or not through trial and error, no matter how long it takes.

Somewhat similarly, I’m okay if what I want to do or become isn’t who I’ve been. It’s okay to change, no matter how drastically. It’s okay to realize that you’ve become uninterested with something you used to love, and realize that you love the idea of pursuing something else.

So, let me tell you of my current ideas/plans, and maybe later down the line we can see how accurate I was. Currently, I plan on attending a public university (so not an ivy league.) I think I want to major in English and possibly minor in Creative Writing. I feel like I’ve settled on the idea of pursuing a career in the publishing and printing field of books. Either a publisher’s assistant, a copy editor, or someone who helps literally print and manufacture books, I’m not sure, but they all sound appealing. I know I love books, but that can be a topic for another day. I could go on and on about my relationship with them.

What’s ironic about this is that my school currently offers a class in which you learn about publishing, printing, binding books, and everything about printing presses, among other things. And, I missed the opportunity of taking this in-hindsight-perfect course because I chose a different program where I learn about digital media, how to build webpages, write code, use Photoshop, Illustrator, and other Adobe software, learn how to animate, etc. Albeit, these will no doubt be useful in some cases with my current idea of a career path, as the two programs greatly overlap in some areas, so it’s not a huge waste of time, and I do enjoy what I’m learning, but the fact of the matter is is that with what I’m currently studying I “should” pursue a different career path, but I’m okay with the fact I have interests elsewhere.

Am I disappointing my parents by attending a public university? Funnily enough, no. My mother is extremely glad that I want to go to a somewhat local college, which a few of my relatives currently attend, making her even more comfortable with it, and she would never have let me go states away to Yale, Harvard, or the like anyways, which is a whole other issue that I will save for another day.

And with that, I bid you adieu. May we see if my current plans come true or change overnight, which is always a possibility.

Best regards,

              Briar

Sunday, November 15, 2020, 10:12 AM

P.S.

In hindsight, I realize I’ve technically not missed a day of writing, as I ended my last writing after the hours ticked past midnight, leading to the start of a new day from when I initially commenced writing. How charming is that.

#daily journal #career

[nikhilshahapurkar]

How to write web content

Most businesses have understood the importance of content on their websites which is why good content writing has become extremely popular and crucial for the success of the business. One of the primary difference between the success and failure of a brand is strong and weak content. More than 1.5 billion websites streaming on the internet right now and more than 3.2 billion Google searches are being done every single day. 

To stand out in such a crowded please requires extraordinary content which can help you separate from the rest. The content should be original, informative, should address concern of the reader, if any, should be readable easily and should be free from any grammatical errors. A good content can fetch you a long term revenue and provide excellent return on investments. This is the reason why having excellent content is one of the primary keys to the success of a brand.

Following are few of the tips to write better content.

1. Extensive keyword research

The first thing that you need to understand is what are you writing about and then you can add search engine optimization to make it a success. Simple keyword research will help you know what topics your target audience is searching on Google and find them relevant. This keyword research will help your content to stand out from the competitors and will also help to highlight your strengths and front of the customers. Good keyword research will help you to understand the keywords that are required in order to pull the traffic on your website and along with it, the return on investment is very good on it. All you need to do is that extra time researching about keywords.

2. Keyword density

Now that you have a good keyword to start with it doesn't mean that adding extra keywords your content will make it more valuable or readable or even search friendly. A content that has more density of keywords looks a little untrustworthy in the eyes of the customers as well as for Google. The conversion rate may possibly go down and readers will start to see this as a low quality page. When the customers open your web page browse through it and leave it immediately within a specified time it is called as bouncing of customers. Adding extra keywords is also increase the bounce rate and search engines will push down your webpage over time. Because the smartness of the search engines has increased these days adding keywords and making it grammatically incorrect just because the customers are searching for it will not rank your page. Having the right density of keywords is important in order to rank the article. Although every website out there has different standard, usually, including keywords 1 – 2% of total word count is optimum for your article. It doesn’t make it too less and also doesn’t seem exaggerated and forcefully crammed up.

3. Use call to action buttons

You should have a goal before starting the website. The goal should involve action from the readers rather than simply browsing through your website. The ultimate outcome of excellent content should be the action from the readers and for that to happen you need to have a powerful CTA button. A call to action is the action requested by the website to the customer. Downloading an article or subscribing to a newsletter or sharing the content on the social media, commenting on article are few examples of call to actions that customers can take. Consider yourself as a reader of the website and think what would make you click the call to action button and use the same project by creating the content on your website. Use of the ‘call to action’ button by customers increases the credibility of the content as well as improves the visibility of the website on search engines.

4. Write right.

Many debates are going on the internet about the use of a couple of words like email or e-mail. The difference is very subtle and many websites for a long time supported the word e-mail, like the visitors but then both of them gave up and now the accepted word is email and not e-mail. Similarly, there was a debate about the word internet being used as lowercase or uppercase. Many people consider the word internet as a proper noun. The fact remains that whatever your language is, you should modify your content for the audience and not for you. If something feels right for the audience then it is right even though it may not feel right according to you. There are many guides available on the internet which can help you with writing the right words thereby avoiding minor mistakes which could drown your ranking in the sea of websites. You do not have to extremely accurate grammatically but your content should be of the level of an average high school student. Too many jargons or too much of grammatical errors can reduce ranking of your website.

5. Mention references by hyperlinking

When you mention the content of another website on your website then you should ensure to hyperlink it back to that website. It is considered as a good internet etiquette and you would enjoy the same courtesy back from the other website. It is important to cite your resources even if the web traffic is directed to another website. You can use other tools such as open the link in another window if you are concerned about keeping the traffic on your website. Citations also help to get backlinks to you which is the right thing to do. More often than not websites see the link and your effort and will thank you with the reciprocal link.

6. Feeling is important

There are many factors which play together in order to make the content viral and promotion is one of the huge contributing factors to this. Along with promotion the brand identity all the time of the content or share that play a role in order to make your content viral. But there is one common thing in every viral content which is an emotional impact. The audience should feel and emotionally connect with the content and only then they will click on call to action. It is human nature and tendency to share what we like and if some article makes you feel good there are chances that people share it in order to make their friends and relatives feel the same. Always think about the fact that what could be better about the story and how could you give more emotional impact to this content.

7. Content plus action

It is very important to have an excellent choice of words in order to create an impact on the reader. The web article should be direct and should appeal to the reader. For example a common tip that is given on writing web content is not to use the passive voice. Passive voice happens when you use subject and object in the same sentence. For example, "Germany attacked many European countries during World war" and "Many European countries were attacked by Germany." The latter sounds less exciting because active voice invokes emotions immediately in the minds of the reader. In that case, it feels as if the subject was added by chance as the writer had forgotten to mention the subject. In the former, the subject is at the forefront and is involved in the action which creates an impact in the mind of the reader. The web content writer should be aware of exciting verbs in order to create a long-lasting impact in the minds of the readers. For example try writing "movie was dazzling" rather than "movie was fantastic" or "The new iPhone 11 is breathtakingly beautiful" rather than "The new iPhone 11 is excellent." in some cases these small word changes may, in fact, reduce your word count but it will definitely make your content more engaging and exciting for the readers.

8. Break it and make it smaller

When writing for the web you should be aware that their attention span of readers is very less. They may have more attention while reading a book but that attention span reduces to less than 10% while reading the content on the web. This is the reason why keep your paragraph smaller. A paragraph of 8 or 9 lines would be good but a paragraph of 5 or 6 lines is even better. Make it a point to keep the paragraph short even if the idea is not complete. You can take it ahead in the next paragraph and can always use the following paragraphs and explain it. Keeping the paragraphs short also adds the feeling that the content is being read faster because the audience keeps on scrolling. Use paragraphs if its an essay and use bullets if its an informational website. (Refer to Point 18 below)

9. Link updating

Internal links are a very important aspect of content and almost every content writer will know that. Using links to link other pages clear website gives an increase in the SEO and The reader will get useful info which increases the page views as well as the time on the site. Once in a while, you need to make it a point to visit your older posts in order to update the things that you have already posted. This will help to increase your search result and will make your page even more useful to the readers and also make your content fresh which will help it to rank even higher on search engines. Although it may sound a lot of work like finding a needle in a haystack it is very important to do it once in a while.

10. Use professional SEO tools

Google spreadsheet is more than enough to do a professional SEO keyword analysis along with some free tools. But usually there is a lot of data and taking through that data will make it very easy to get lost. Some SEO tools have too much data than necessary without providing the necessary tools for you to get through it. Other SEO tools break down everything according to their own system which may not give up data in order to draw your conclusions. One such as you tool is a CM brush which has given a lot of data and it is also easier to export it and analyze it by the use of another program. All the important and other text about the website are displayed to you which will add value to your keywords and also you will gain a deep insight on the performance of your website.

11. Best SEO practices

Using a keyboard multiple times is not enough but this keyword is to be used in any related phrases like meta description, or headers, or even in the alt-tag images of your website. There are many tools which can help you with the SEO if you are using WordPress than the tools called Yoast can help you for SEO. It provides a detailed content analysis of your website and also solves problems like missing keywords which could be included in the meta description and also helps you focus on minor issues like low keyword density. Use of professional tools initially, if you are just starting up with a website may seem expensive so you can always use the free tools but as you progress, you need to have paid tools for better performance of your content.

12. Reader attachment

Your content should be engaging right from the first line. A good introduction is very difficult to write you can skip it initially, write the remaining content and then write the introduction when you are ready. Once you have the entire content ready, only then post it online. If you have the introduction that is not very engaging but the main content is good, then there are very fewer chances of the reader percolating down to the main content because the introduction itself will wear him out and as mentioned earlier, the patience of readers online is very less. You should understand that your website is not literature and visitors are not there for your language but they are there to get information or to solve a problem or buy a product. If you don't show it from the first line that your content will solve their problem or provide them information then get ready to increase your bouncing rates. Write something that will make the readers care about the content they are reading.

13. Vivid descriptions

Visual description some more impact than verbal descriptions. If you don't have the vocabulary to paint a picture in the minds of the reader, then put a picture on the website. Images - as long as they are not copyrighted - are a great source of providing more information in fewer words or rather no words at all. If the website content demands you writing the description then make sure that you write a description. For example, if you have a blog about literature then obviously writing pointwise information will not make sense but rather providing a detailed description by using articulate vocabulary is what will be engaging for the reader. Describe where description is needed but not where it is not needed and make sure you know the difference. A news website is not expected to have too many jargons or articulate words, rather it should have crisp usage of words with facts and numbers, on the other hand, a blog of fictional stories should have heavy and articulate words and long descriptions. On the other hand, an e commerce website should have least number of words with maximum description in order to attract the customer attention.

14. Confirm and then write

Make sure that you double check everything that you post including grammar spelling or words especially facts. If you don't pay attention then someone may catch your mistake and write it down in the comment box visible for all the other for those with impact negatively for your content as well as for your website. You can always include an extension of many grammar applications which will help you with learning as well as improve your grammar while you write content. There are many good blogs and online courses about creating good content and paying attention to the grammatical aspects of it. If you are posting news on your website or writing about something that happened recently make sure to differentiate your opinions from the fact. Posting or writing about wrong facts can cost you millions of dollars if someone puts a lawsuit on your content. If there is something you are not sure about then make sure to look it up on Google, confirm it, reconfirm the confirmation from a few more reliable websites and only then write it. It may take some time to do that but it will save a lot of money in future as well as increase credibility of your website.

15. Understand your readers/audience

it is a very basic and simple thing before you start writing the content to understand the target audience that you are intending to target. answer the question who are you trying to reach before drafting the first content. Segment your audiences primary audience and the secondary audience who will be influenced by the primary audience. Ask yourself the question of how will they find your site online. for example, if you are creating a blog then categorize your blog into a form of literature. You can write non-fictional articles or fictional articles or stories or simply keep a journal of your day-to-day activities online. in any of those cases, you need to define who are the readers will be attracted to your content and what will be they needing more. you need to answer the question of what is different in your website which will compare the audience to come there and read your content. this is why before you start writing the content think from the perspective of your audience who will be here for you to write it.

16. Slash jargons

the internet is for everyone and not simply technical experts this is why you have to make sure that your information is understandable by a specialist as well as a layman. using slightly difficult words will show your knowledge but using jargons everywhere will simply categorize you as a pretentious writer and will turn off many of your readers. Consider the following sentence:

‘This year's iPhone 12 is packed with 4 gigs of RAM and telephoto, wide and ultra wide lens which contribute to a really cool camera having smallest aperture size any other iPhone has had.’

A lot of information is provided in the sentence but some of it might not be comprehended by a regular reader because of the technical terms.

Now consider the revision of the same sentence

‘This year's iPhone 12 is immensely powerful and smooth with a combination of three state of the art lenses which work as one. The photos have a stunning quality which no other iPhone before this had.’

This information is more for everyday users rather than techniques which will be very attractive and readable by everyone. using too much of jargons is a turn off for many readers as well as the website may not rank in search engines for regular keywords. Unless a topic is extremely technical and nice, you should ideally aim for a middle school reading level or possibly even lower.

17. Social sharing is caring and earning

Good content will have a lot of value over time on different social media accounts. content which is shared and link on many websites which have high traffic and at the same time Google with rank it at the top even if the information may be old and not updated. This implies that the strategy of "write it and forget it" does not work well with content marketing. you need to regularly monitor how the content is performing as compared to other content on your website as well as similar content on other websites and need to form a strategy to revamp the content in order to bring new visitors. As a general rule of thumb, the longer and informative the content is the better results it will get but sometimes a short piece of content will also surprise you by going viral and it will start ranking for the keywords that you are not even thinking of targeting. Get content endorsements by different influencers on social media. This will help to improve your visibility and also bring more user traffic on your website. Sometimes, if the content is really good, then influencers themselves share making your content viral but at other times, you may require a paid promotion.

18. Make points

Apart from putting up important information in a quickly readable position by the user make sure that the text is easy to read. Make sure to include numerical points or bullet instead of one long paragraph. Make sure to include a blank space surrounding the paragraph for the images on your website. It may seem like a waste of space but actually, it is a best friend of a web designer. A lot of white space makes the text more readable and more enjoyable to read. It is also crucial that you divide up your content into different sections with different descriptive headers. rather than writing an essay on climate change you can put different headers describing what is climate change, what are the scenarios and impacts of climate change and the solutions to reduce the effects of climate change. Making bullets, headings and sub headings will make your content more readable and scannable by the user at a quick glance. The more ease the user has, the more your content will be appreciated.

19. Never self edit

You should always have someone for editing your work because you would be responsible for only writing the content. you can edit your own web content for some time but at least do not do it on the same day was the writing is still fresh. Instead, forget it and come back on a different day at least two hours later so that the mind can find the gaps in your work. But make sure the person editing your work knows about the content that you have written. There might be cases where your vision might get lost while editing because the editor was not able to comprehend your vision. Make sure to communicate your Idea or goal or expected the outcome of the article to the editor before passing on the article.

20. Read a Lot!

Only reading will help you to write a lot. The point here is not to write quantity but also along with quantity equal quality. Read different books and magazines which talk about content writing and SEO, take professional courses which will help you to carve your content better on any website. Read good blogs and websites which will help you to get better ideas. Understand the current market scenario as weather your customer base and read what the competition is doing so that you can modify it and adapt for your website and your content. the more you read the more you will write, is what the quote says. Make sure you read quality as well as quantity.

#content marketing #digitalmarketing #writingforweb #content creation

[waltzofthewifi]

Alter Ego (Marinette March #10)

Monday

Tikki glanced over Marinette’s shoulder, so Marinette adjusted her position to let Tikki see the webpage. 

“Every year, our entire school votes for winners of certain categories,” Marinette explained. “This year we have ‘Most Likely To Become Famous’, ‘Most Likely To Accidentally Stumble Upon A Million Dollars’ - I’m putting Lila down for that, she’s way too lucky, ‘Most Likely To Successfully Run A Criminal Empire’, ‘Most Likely To Be Ladybug’-”

“That’s not good!” Tikki said.

Marinette gave her kwami a reassuring pat on the head. “Don’t worry, they’re not being serious about it. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be chosen for that. I know Adrien likes to talk about how I’m an everyday Ladybug, but I don’t think anyone actually believes it.”

Tikki hummed doubtfully.

The Previous Monday

Marinette, as always, arrived to class in just the nick of time. 

But even if the bell had yet to ring, she still felt she was late. After all, clearly something had happened to have Alix and Ivan at each others throats. 

“What’s going on?” Marinette asked. 

“Alix crashed into Mylene earlier and broke her arm,” Ivan replied, voice low with anger. 

“It’s not my fault!” Alix yelled back. “She wasn’t looking where she was going either!” “You were on skates,” Ivan replied. “It was your responsibility to look where you were going, but you didn’t.” 

Marinette studied the two. They both looked mad, but in her experience, anger sometimes was just a symptom of another emotion. 

And she knew her friends well enough to guess. 

“Ivan, I know you’re concerned about Mylene, but yelling at Alix isn’t going to fix what already happened,” Marinette interceded. “I can’t say whose fault it was, but Alix cares for Mylene too. If she is at fault here, she probably already knows it. And Alix, I know you probably feel guilty, but if you messed up there’s nothing you can do now but apologize and try to do better next time.”

Ivan deflated first. “You’re right. I think I need to take a walk.”

“A wonderful idea, Ivan,” Bustier commented. 

Ivan still moved with a bit of anger as he went to grab his backpack. The door shut behind him with a bang, but no one commented. 

Alix remained tense. Marinette thought she detected the beginning of tears. 

“Alix, it’s okay if it’s your fault,” Marinette said, putting her hand on Alix’s shoulder. “You made a mistake - everyone does. The important thing is that you learn from it.” Alix didn’t budge, so Marinette added. “No one is judging you for this.” 

That deflated her. “I just - I was so worried I’d hurt her! I mean, badly! I know people who had really bad concussions from that type of collision and I thought I -” 

Alix sniffled, and Marinette opened her arms to her. The two hugged for a few seconds before Alix pulled away. 

“You're right. I need to learn from this - and I will!” 

.

Tuesday

“Okay, so Alya can get Lila’s drink, Alix can get Mylene’s drink, Ivan can get Mylene’s tray, and then Nino and Juleka can split Lila’s tray between the two of them,” Rose deduced as they walked towards the cafeteria. 

“I can get something,” Mylene argued. “Only one of my arms are broken.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that!” Rose replied. 

Alya’s phone beeped, and she peaked at the screen. “Guys, wait up - Marinette said to meet her back in Bustier’s room. She has a treat for us!” 

“Oh, I hope she brought something from her bakery,” Nino said.

“Me too,” Mylene said wistfully. 

It was a short walk back to the classroom, and the class was greeted by a delicious smell. 

“Forget pastry treats, she brought a whole lunch!” Alix said. 

Marinette greeted them. “Hey everyone! So I thought everyone could use a little cheering up after yesterday, and since I was stuck at home during that akuma attack and all, I thought it might be nice to arrange a lunch for us.”

“Marinette, you’re so nice!” Rose commented. 

“Yeah, and now we don’t have to worry about getting Lila’s and Mylene’s food,” Alix commented. 

“Thanks girl,” Alya said. “You really know how to cheer us up. 

.

Marinette was about halfway down the steps when she heard the sniffly. 

Marc.

She poked her head under the stairs, and, sure enough, Marc was sitting, looking near tears. 

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked. 

“Nothing!” Marc replied. “I just-” he sniffled again. “I got some nasty comments online about my writing, and it-”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marinette said when he trailed off. She sat down next to her. 

“They said what I was writing was wrong, because I had one of the characters go through a fight with his parents or... or something like that, I don’t know, but it was based off of real life, and I-” Marc sniffled. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m projecting onto my characters too much.”

“Well, first of all, I read that chapter and it was amazing,” Marinette replied. “I’ve never had a fight with my parents like that, and yet I could still feel what it must have felt like. I get that such a topic is probably triggering to a lot of people, but you put a content warning and everything!

“And second of all, there is nothing wrong with projecting. I do it all the time in my designing! It’s a lot harder to tell, obviously, but when I’m looking over old designs, I can almost always tell which ones I drew when having a bad day, or when I’m angry. I found one with a lot of spikes and sharp lines and went, ‘yep, I remember what Chloe said to me that day that made me draw this.’”

“So you’re saying it’s natural?”

“Of course. Our emotions and our experiences inform who we are, and what we create. We have to use some control, of course, but I think how you use it is great! Some of my favorite stories have so-called ‘self-inserts’. Besides, you’re not the one going around insulting people online, so you are definitely not in the wrong for this situation.” 

Marc nodded. “Thanks. I feel a little better now.”

.

Wednesday

Mylene smiled at her cast. “Wow, you two are so talented!”

Nathaniel blushed, and Marinette smiled. 

“I feel a lot better about it now,” Mylene said. “You really know how to brighten someone’s day, Marinette!”

.

“It’s so ugly!” Alya complained, spinning in a circle to show off her bridesmaid’s dress to Marinette and Nino, who were sitting on the couch in her living room.

Marinette had been summoned about half an hour ago by Alya’s mom, saying Alya was “near hysterics” and needed someone to calm her down. Preferably, someone’s who fashion sense “she actually trusted”, and couldn’t use the “your my mom you’re supposed to say I look good card” on. She had originally called Nino, but then Alya had played the “your my boyfriend you’re supposed to say I look good” card immediately. 

It made Marinette think being honest was the best way to go. 

“Of course it is!” Marinette replied. “It doesn’t fit. It’s way too big in the chest.”

“But I couldn’t take anything smaller in the hips,” Alya complained. 

“That’s okay,” Marinette said, standing up. “After all, what’s the point in having a designer for a best friend if she can’t fix a dress for you.”

“You’ll fix it for me?” Alya asked. 

“Of course,” Marinette replied. “If you pull it a little tighter hear, maybe pull the neckline up a little-”

“Yes please,” Marlene cut in. 

“And then loosen it around the hips, it will look fabulous on you,” Marinette finished. “I’d have to find a fabric really similar to this, but it shouldn’t be hard.” 

“I’ll pay you back!” Alya said, almost desperately. 

“No you won’t,” Marinette decided. “When is this needed by?” 

“The wedding’s in a month,” Marlene supplied. 

“I should have time to do it by then,” Marinette confirmed. 

Alya spun and enveloped Marinette in a bear hug. “Oh, thank you girl!” 

.

Thursday

Marinette spent lunch break at the Liberty, holed up in the practice room working on sketches for the album cover she had been asked to design. 

After about half an hour, Juleka and Rose peaked in to see how she was doing. Marinette happily showed them what she was working on. 

“This is my favorite,” Marinette said. “Penny sent me the photo from the last performance. The lighting isn’t good, and if we decided to go with it, we’ll probably retake it, but it’s great for inspiration. I think we can work out the colors of the outfits a little better too - Juleka, I have this brilliant purple jacket I think you will love-”

“Thank you Marinette for doing all of this!” Rose said. 

“It’s no big deal,” Marinette replied. “Especially since Penny arranged for me to be officially commissioned and paid like I was when I did Jagged’s album.”

“You’re amazing,” Rose continued. 

“No, you’re amazing,” Marinette countered. “I’m just here to support you guys.” 

“Shut up and take the compliment, Marinette,” Juleka said, just loud enough to be heard. 

“You are wonderful,” Rose said. “And you better believe it, too.”

.

Marinette spotted the girl crying in the locker rooms when she left the bathroom after detransforming. 

“Are you okay?” Marinette asked, sitting down next to the girl. 

The girl nodded. “Yeah, I just - yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You don’t look it,” Marinette replied. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” the girl answered. “It’s just - my boyfriend broke up with me, and he did it over text and I - I just -”

“Over text! How rude,” Marinette sympathized. 

The girl chuckled. “Yeah, definitely. I guess I wasn’t worth his time.”

“Sounds like he’s not worth your time,” Marinette replied. 

The girl shook her head. “You don’t know me. Trust me, I was lucky he even paid attention to me in the first place.”

“Well, maybe I want to know you,” Marinette said. “I’m Marinette.”

“Liz.”

“Nice to meet you Liz,” Marinette said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Don’t you have to be in class?” Liz questioned.

“Eh, my attendance record is already bad,” Marinette said. “Nothing I can do to make it worse.”

Liz chuckled. “Alright then. Well, it started last year when-”

.

Friday

“Your dad can’t be serious,” Nino complained. 

“He is,” Adrien replied. “I’m sorry for having to bail - I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“It’s not your fault,” Marinette argued. 

“Yeah, your dad needs to calm down,” Alya added. 

Adrien said goodbye and headed down to his limo. Marinette felt something in the back of her brain, nudging her to do something, but she couldn’t figure out what. 

Adrien was about halfway down to the car when inspiration hit. 

��Wait!” Marinette raced down the stairs and to the car, where Nathalie was waiting for him. “Hi, I’m Marinette.”

“We’ve met,” Nathalie replied.  “Well, as you know, we really wanted Adrien to study with us tonight,” Marinette said. “But the truth is, I was actually wanting his help with something else - you see, I was invited to help design a suit for this big gala happening at the hotel in June-”

“You were invited to design for the Summer Gala?” Nathalie questioned, just as Adrien walked up next to Marinette. 

“Yes,” Marinette confirmed. “And I was hoping Adrien could help me, since he’s been to something similar-”

“Well, tonight he is definitely unavailable,” Nathalie said. She checked her tablet. “But next Tuesday he should be available. I can schedule for him to join your study group for you, and this time we should have more luck keeping his schedule clear.”

“Really?” Adrien asked. “Thanks Nathalie!”

“Of course,” Nathalie replied.

.

Saturday

“Thank you for coming into school on a Saturday,” Bustier said to Marinette and Alya as they arrived. 

“No problem,” Alya replied. “After all, this is a big deal! The school needs a much better kept ramp for students who can’t use the steps, and if this is our chance to make that happen, then I’m all aboard.”

“Me too,” Marinette said. “Alya has my full support.”

“Lately it feels like you’ve been supporting me,” Alya replied. 

“This was your idea,” Marinette said. “And you were the one to get permission to do a fundraiser.”

“Yes, but only because you were willing to organize the bake sale for us!” Alya said. “Not to mention the posters you designed! And the extra help you recruited. With so many students, this is sure to be a success. Especially now that we’ll have reporters coming. The school will be forced to uphold their end of the deal.”

“Both of you have put so much work into this project!” Bustier said. “I”m so proud of you both!”

.

Sunday

“Thanks for coming over on such short notice,” Mylene’s dad said, letting Marinette in. “I don’t know what set her off, but I think it’s a girl thing.”

Marinette nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll do my best to calm her down.”

She had visited the Haprele’s apartment enough times to know which room was Mylene’s, and she knocked lightly on the door. 

“Mylene? Can I come in?” 

Mylene muttered something that sounded like a yes, and Marinette slowly entered her room. 

The room was a mess. Mylene was curled up on her bed, sniffled into her knees. She looked up with teary eyes as Marinette entered the room. 

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked, sitting down on the foot of the bed.

“I misplaced the pin Ivan gave me,” Mylene sniffled.

It seemed so minor, Marinette knew something else was up. When Mylene hesitated for a moment, grimacing with pain, Marinette knew the what. 

“Cramps again?” Marinette questioned. “How about I get you some midol?” 

Mylene shook her head. “Just took some.” 

“Okay then,” Marinette said. She thought for a moment. “I’m going to call my mom and have her bring over some macaroons for us.” 

“Oh, please!” Mylene said. “I’ve been craving chocolate for decades.” 

“I’ll make sure she brings lots of chocolate,” Marinette confirmed. “And then I’ll help you clean up your room.” 

“And help me find the pin?”

“I’ll help you find the pin,” Marinette said. “I”m sure it’s around here somewhere.” 

Monday

“I’m going to put Alya down for Ladybug,” Marinette decided. “I bet she’ll be chosen.” 

“Maybe,” Tikki agreed. 

But probably not. 

#marinette dupain-cheng #marinette march #fanfiction #ml fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #my writing #my fanfiction #unedited #period #mentions of periods #mentions of broken bones

[tsuraiwrites]

The Uses of Sorrow: Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness - tell me it doesn't smell of voiles to you?

for this prompt meme. this will be up on ao3 in the evening.

A Box Full of Darkness (½)

The thing about corporating out of some bandages onto that wooden floor… the thing is that no matter what Noshiko and her oni say, no matter that the oni’s hold on him felt like they were scraping claws on the inside of his skull and deemed him free of corruption, Stiles doesn’t feel like a real person. 

He’s got all of his memories, sure. Even the ADHD came through fine. PTSD and nightmares are real winners too.

But there used to be a small scar over the knuckle of his index finger, where Mrs. Peterson’s pomeranian bit him when he was eight. He had to get stitches because it kept spurting blood everytime he twitched his finger. There’s no faint line above his eyebrow where Erica bashed him in the face. He has no scars now, except onore, the “self” the oni branded him with.

Stiles is a copy, and he can’t forget it when his own body is a testament to the truth. He traces the kanji when he’s distracted, wondering if the mark is supposed to fade at some point. He doesn’t think it will.

Maybe the oni missed something vital, something still curled around the back of his brain. 

When he finally turns to Google to answer the questions still buzzing around his head like that fucking fly, Stiles finds himself staring at a webpage full of Japanese and reading it as easily as English. He tabs away, checking emails before typing another search term into the browser.

After a while he realizes he’s reading a PDF of the original Kojiki, combing for references to the god of foxes, kitsune, or nogitsune. The old Japanese holy text is already liberally annotated. The corner of his screen reads 4:30am and he has to be at school in less than four hours. Stiles sucks in a breath, clenching his hands into fists until they stop shaking.

He slams his laptop shut and faceplants into the bed, packing away this new horrifying revelation and shoving it into a dark corner. 

The visualization helps a little, even if his skull starts to feel scraped out and raw again. 

Stiles tries to forget about it.

He won’t be able to, but he tries.

-

“Stiles,” a voice whispers in his dream, and the sad thing is Stiles thinks he’s actually able to tell it’s not real without even counting his fingers. The figment of his own brain speaks into his ear, and Stiles waves it away until it disperses like so much mist.

He knows he’s not possessed. He’s too empty for that voice to be real.

-

Then Scott calls them to Derek’s loft. 

“And everything looked fine, his door was locked, nothing out of place, but…” Scott trails off, distressed. Stiles looks around, but everything is just as open and lifeless as ever.

“But what? Did you find something that points to this kidnapping theory?” Stiles finally snaps when Scott doesn’t continue. 

“Of course he didn’t find anything. This place has been professionally cleaned. That cobweb that’s been there since he moved here is gone,” Lydia says, pointing to the corner by the window. Scott squints like his eyesight isn’t perfect, and Stiles can read his frustration with missing cues that only Lydia could deem ‘obvious’. 

“So what, you want Lydia to run her hands over everything in the room to see if someone capped Derek? Seems like just asking for tetanus.”

Scott shoots him a look full of exasperation and Lydia brushes past him, rolling her eyes as she prepares to listen. 

For about five minutes, Stiles has hope they can resolve this quickly. 

-

He can’t say why he comes to the clinic, his thought process not much beyond every minute that passes is another Derek may be dying.

They have nothing. No leads. No new impressions. No one they can really reach out to. Isaac and Argent fucked off to France to run away from their grief, practically gone dark but for the few texts from Isaac over the last weeks. So far they’ve received no reply about their worries for Derek, and if Stiles is honest he’s not sure Argent is up to making all the calls necessary, not with Allison gone.

(And that hurts too because even when he feels unreal he can still feel his hands gripping the blade that sank into Scott the same way it must have sunk into Allison and it hurts-)

But he finds himself picking the lock into the vet clinic almost absent-mindedly, his thoughts focused on fending off that twist of grief threatening to drown him if he lets it. 

Deaton isn’t in, but it’s not like Stiles needs him to get past the mountain ash lines or whatever other supernatural traps the druid laid. 

(And he feels unreal again because how can he be human after getting puked out his own body or when he feels like there’s a subtle awareness of his own energy like something buzzing under his skin and reminding Stiles how hollow he is)

He comes back to awareness while popping open a padlock with steady hands. He curiously lifts the lid off the metal chest and peeks inside.

He slams the lid again, clicks the padlock in place, and runs out the clinic as fast as his legs can carry him.

-

First is the fear. How did Stiles know it was there? Did it put him in a fucking trance- but no, he’d seen the runes all over that chest, so surely Deaton was using that to contain its influence. Surely. But then how did Stiles know where to find it.

Close on fears heels comes anger, because Argent was supposed to take care of it, to make sure it never hurts anyone again-

But that’s too much to ask of a man whose daughter died because of that thing. Because of Stiles. 

He hisses, hitting the wheel with his open palms until they ache and then gripping for all he’s worth.

“Stiles,” his dad says on the other side of the door and Stiles yelps, banging his knee hard into the dashboard. “You okay, kid?” 

Damn it, even his paranoia isn’t good for anything if he didn’t notice his dad walking up to the Jeep. Stiles scrambles to unbuckle and get out. His dad’s raised eyebrows don’t help the embarrassment he feels when they both realize he’s wearing just his pajamas and a pair of sneakers. He didn’t even put on socks. 

“Hey, you haven’t been sleepwalking again, have you?” John asks, his face twisting up with concern. He sets a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles can’t help how he flinches. The next moment he’s being reeled in closer and pulled into another of those hugs – the ones that happen when they’re both thinking about things better left unsaid. “No, not sleepwalking, I promise,” he mutters, not quite sure how true it is. “There’s just, been a lot going on and…” Stiles mentally flails, casting about for a suitable lie, and John pulls away to look him in the eye again. This is the part where Dad asks what’s going on, and Stiles comes up with some high school drama, some small werewolf thing, a story about how he had a nightmare and wanted to grab some coffee and didn’t think to change clothes…

But his dad just looks at him, doing his best to be patient without walking on eggshells. Stiles’ next breath hitches on a sob he can’t quite choke down.

“It’s about Derek…”

-

It’s easier to convince his dad than Stiles thought it would be, even with their paper-thin conclusions that Derek has been kidnapped. 

His dad files a missing persons report and reaches out along the few contacts he has that haven’t yet burned their bridges with the Hellmouth that is Beacon Hills. In the process they finally reel Peter into things, which is in hindsight a mistake. He has nothing helpful to add but snarky comments and an intense fixation on watching Malia. Stiles keeps an eye on them, and Malia may as well be bristling at the attention. He carefully keeps himself between them, even though she probably won’t hesitate to go through him if Peter says something to piss her off.

It should be a red flag, how little that prospect frightens him. Instead Stiles is forced to push it aside for that clock ticking down somewhere in the back of his head, telling him that Derek is running out of time. He’d think it was just anxiety giving him a panic-inducing imaginary countdown, but… somehow Stiles is just sure. 

Nothing good will happen to Derek if they don’t find him in time.

-

No leads, no leads and the clock is ticking. Argent still won’t get back to them. 

He keeps going back to the loft, even though Lydia got nothing more than blood, gunshots, and a woman’s voice. Nothing helpful, and Stiles keeps getting stuck back on the floor, shining with a faint lemon-scent by unknown hands. They only have assurance that Derek didn’t die here, despite probably being shot. 

Even Kira’s mother has little to say in the matter. It doesn’t surprise him – celestial kitsune have never been very useful aside from summoning oni and some flashy cleansing powers… and if that’s not thought Stiles ever would have had before, he shakes his head and ignores it. 

The way he’s trying to ignore the knowledge that there is someone – something – that could touch the featureless concrete and know, because it deals in pain and suffering and feeds on it even years later. 

It’s Peter who finds him there, still standing in the middle of the floor an hour later. The sound of his name breaks Stiles out of his thought process. Peter grabs his arm when he tries to brush past him and Stiles can’t help his flinch.

He’s immediately let go, and can’t quite process what’s happening for a moment when Peter takes a step away from him. Bewildered, Stiles finally meets his eyes.

“Are you alright?” 

It’s the last thing he expects to hear from Peter and he blinks hard. “What- I…” he stops, straightens a little to look at the wolf on the same level. “I’m fine. I am,” he insists when Peter squints at him. Stiles’ heartbeat is as steady as it ever gets. He isn’t lying. 

-

It’s easy as anything to download a Japanese keyboard to his phone. Even with shaking hands, he has a few emails sent out before he unlocks the door to his dark, empty house. His dad is on shift, and with everyone out looking for any sign of Derek he can’t expect company for the evening. 

In his pocket, his phone buzzes once with an incoming email. 

-

The hostess only raises an eyebrow as Stiles skids through the restaurant door two minutes before closing. He musters his best sheepish smile. “Uh, pickup for Stilinski?” 

“Of course,” she says, picking up a large bag and setting it on the corner before him. “Cash or card?”

Stiles pays and quickly leaves again, hoping that the sheer amount of karaage and inarizushi he bought will make up for it not being warm when he finally eats it. But no, he can’t think about that right now. Focus is what’s needed here. 

He drives with both hands on the wheel, counting his breaths just so panic won’t cause him to run off the road. The Jeep’s beaten up enough as it is, it probably won’t survive another head-on collision with a tree. 

He could swear the wards and mountain ash prick at him as he picks the lock again. The quiet snick of the last pin sliding into place echoes ominously, reverberating in the hollow space carved into his chest. The plastic bag in his hand grows heavier. Nevertheless, Stiles makes his slow way to the dark office, counting his breaths.

He drives the screwdriver into the lock and it clicks open in time with his thudding heart.

Shock, an emotion screaming into Stiles’ brain like a livewire the instant his hand touches the box. A moment later that clears and rage hammers into him, the quiet thunk of a buzzing fly throwing itself mindlessly against the lid, trying to get at him. 

It takes every ounce of self-control to set the box on the floor instead of dropping it, and he has to wonder if Deaton or Argent could feel this too, or if he’s just special. Stiles gratefully lets go but the buzzing only grows louder. 

“Chill out,” he says, voice as steady as he can make it. He may be shaking, but the fly doesn’t need to know that. 1-2-3-4… he keeps counting on one hand, touching his thumb to each finger in sequence. With the other hand, he takes two styrofoam containers and opens the tops before turning the containers to face the box.

The buzzing stops. 

Got your attention now, don’t I, you bastard. “Kitsune-tsuki,” he says, and if his accent is a little archaic, it can’t be helped. “Willingly, this time.” 

The box actually twitches from how hard the fly buzzes, and Stiles doesn’t need to touch it to get the impression of rage and betrayal from it – it spent far too long wrapped up in Stiles’ neurons for him not to get to know it back, at least a little toward the end. 

“It’s not a trick,” says the human kid to the monster, and Stiles wants to laugh, reassuring the only being he hates in this world more than Gerard Argent that he’s being sincere. Half a giggle slips out before he strangles it. “I know what it means to be kitsune-mochi. This can’t be a trick.”

In the quiet, the fly buzzes once, almost petulant. 

Stiles scoffs. “You tricked Noshiko first, you don’t get to be pissed when she tricked you back.” His mouth pulls into a grin and there’s no one to see how strained it is at the edges when Stiles leans forward and negligently flicks the box of sushi with a finger. “Well?” he finally hisses at the silent hunk of wood, trying not to let his desperation show. 

Somewhere in the next room, something drips loudly. The invisible clock ticks on. 

Then a high, long buzz he can’t interpret, but he doesn’t have to when he’s already reaching to open the box with the yes ringing in his ears. 

“Onegaishimasu,” he remembers to spit at the last minute, and then there is pain. 

It’s not the slow invasion of dreams and backsliding sanity Stiles experienced before. It strikes like lightning, but inside, a rapid expansion of shadow driving seeking tendrils through all his veins and up his spine, curling tight around nerves and bone alike. The brand underneath his ear burns hot. 

All is quiet for a long moment. The dripping faucet is dry and the pain gradually fades.

There’s an almost physical sensation as the nogitsune wends their way through his memories until they come to the reason Stiles has been so desperate in the first place. 

Their laugh is full of razor blades, but he knows they’re amused at his petty need to save a pack member, even one that doesn’t like him very much. 

So soon after you were rid of us, too.

Stiles wants to scream, and they can see his want and his restraint both. 

Stiles reaches for a piece of inarizushi. Onegaishimasu, they sigh, in the same tone as someone settling into their favorite spot on the couch after a long day.

His mouth opens without his will behind it, tofu and rice accepted from a human hand as he feeds it to the fox. 

They are bound.

-

Cultural notes:

kitsune-tsuki - possession by a fox spirit

kitsune-mochi - a person or family willingly possessed by a kitsune in order to bring fortune to their family

karaage & inarizushi - both traditional foods (fried chicken and a type of fried tofu on sushi rice) associated with kitsune and the god of foxes and rice, O-Inari

“onegaishimasu” - a phrase used by two players before starting their game of Go; a phrase used when someone has agreed to do something for the person saying the words, with the implication to “please do me this favor”

#fic #teen wolf #voiles #nogitsune/stiles stilinski #bxdcubes #still working on the next chapter #prompt meme

[pamy92]

Online “Date” Video Call with Asato Yuya (WithLIVE - 45secs)

3 October 2020, Saturday  (11:30am) 

^ Yep...that was the best artist impression I could recreate of what I saw on my iPhone screen. I’m going to use an iPad next time just so the screen is bigger. Asaty was kinda tiny!! 

☼-- -- -- -- --☼

Attended Asaty’s Online Date aka Video Call yesterday via the WithLIVE app! A lot of us fans were very nervous and did not know what to expect as it is our first time doing this. We didn’t know if it was supposed to be like a ‘date’ but it ended up being a normal conversation session with Asaty. 

Like the previous 2 fan-meetings with Asaty, I couldn’t sleep well the night before and literally went through my day with a hangover... 

[ WithLIVE Application ]

Signing up with a WithLIVE account went seamlessly, it was not region-blocked so I could do my account verification with my local number. The call was also done via WIFI/4G so there is no need for a Japanese address or telephone number. 

We received a serial code with the advanced-purchase of his photobooks, and we just had to enter it in a dedicated webpage to choose our preferred time-slot. 

I chose the 11:30am one, because he had a 15-minute break from the earlier session. Thought it would be good to choose that slot and give him lots of energy during my call, so he can continue on with the other calls after mine. 

[ Before the call: 11:00am ~ 11:25am] 

I had set up my phone stand and my laptop (to display the timer and Japanese clock in real-time since I can’t check via my phone) at 11am. 

We were also explicitly told NOT to record our screens and take screenshots as it will force the app to end the call immediately. 

We were also only allowed into the WithLIVE app ‘Waiting Room’ 5-minutes prior to our scheduled calls, so I started taking memorial selfies to remember this event, and making sure my room was neat and tidy. 

[ In the Waiting Room: 11:25am ~ 11:30am]

So once the clock displayed on my laptop hit 11:25am in Japan-time, I immediately tapped on a button on my screen to enter the waiting room, and the timer started counting down from  [5-minutes 45-seconds]. 

My nerves just exploded 10-fold and I started bobbing my head and doing crazy hand movements while singing to myself to calm myself down. 

>> Apparently the back-end staff could see the name of the caller and their profile picture before the call starts, but I do not know if they are able to see our video feed. If they could see what I was doing before the call connected, I AM SO SORRY HAHA. Must have been amusing to watch. Luckily I didn’t fart or dig my nose LOL. 

When the timer on the app hit the last minute, I started fiddling my phone’s volume buttons just to check the volume, singing something about “Let’s check the sound~” and then Asaty suddenly APPEARED ON MY SCREEN! 

[45-seconds Video Call]

So naturally I screamed because:

1) He appeared all of a sudden, with a cheeky grin on his face and shouted ‘KONNICHIWA’. (I am going to die if you heard me sing, Asaty.)

2) I was caught off-guard. 

Because of my shock, half my brain disappeared and I was left functioning with the remaining half of my brain. Thank god I wrote down my lines and practised them multiple times. 

Here’s my conversation with him: 

And once the call ended, I was still in shock and started crying while scribbling down what I could remember him say to me. Then I went on Instagram Story to record my experience (it is easier than writing it down), and cried all over again. 

Honestly I have never cried even once when I met Asaty on both occasions, but this time round, I was crying like a baby. I guess it is because Asaty caught COVID-19 this year and it was really hard for us fans to see him so down. So to be able to see him 100% recovered and fighting back with all his power, really made me relieved. And also, I was so upset that I couldn’t travel to Japan this year at all (Had planned and saved up last year to attend his Bus Tour - it didn’t happen this year anyway - and also his year-end birthday event). 

So being able to see and talk to him again, really really moved me so much and all that happiness came out in tears. 

I really hope that the world becomes peaceful again in 2021, and leisure travel can continue again. 

Till then, I will continue to write stupid letters to his NicoLive channel, as promised. 

(♡♡♡: I want to thank @beansproutsong​ for helping me with the fan benefits! Without her, I would never have gotten the chance to talk to Asaty this year. You’re AMAZING! Thank you, An!) 

☼

Previous Asato Yuya Fan Meetings: 

2018: https://pamy92.tumblr.com/post/181040183746/asato-yuya-birthday-event-2018

2019: https://pamy92.tumblr.com/post/189716735161/asato-yuya-birthday-event-2019

#yuya asato #安里勇哉 #asato yuya #pamyinjapan

[waddlenotwaddles]

Beginnings

Or: the story of one agent’s unconventional recruitment to the PSA.

“Fishsticks,” Wei muttered, prodding at the stubborn image scan on her laptop that simply refused to un-pixelate. “Come on, you old thing. Why won’t you load?”

She clicked a few keys decisively and pressed ‘Enter’. The image juddered, somehow pixelated even more, and then the entire webpage crashed, showing only a grey, sad-looking error icon on-screen with a blue ? in its centre. Wei clutched at her hair and resisted the urge to shriek, but it was a near thing.

(read the rest on ao3, or:)

It was no use. If she wanted any chance of finishing her work before midnight tonight, she would have to return to her tiny desk at the Club Penguin Times offices, where the internet was reliable but which was also busy and crowded and clamouring with penguins to the point that her flippers started to shake just at the thought of it.

Wei closed her eyes and swore under her breath. This is impossible. I can’t get into a panic every time I enter my own place of work.

Her laptop beeped feebly at her, announcing the imminent decline of both her battery percentage and continued will to live. Wei cursed again and fumbled her laptop into her arms, pulling the charging cable from her bag and casting around frantically for an outlet. The Book Room, it seemed, was allergic not only to reliable internet but also to basic technology as a whole; the only outlet in sight was already fully occupied by both an ancient, sputtering lamp and a small black box with a blinking red light in one corner. With a muttered “sorry”, Wei unplugged the dying lamp and replaced it with her laptop’s charging cable. At the very least, waiting for her laptop to charge up would give her time to mentally brace herself before she had to return to the office.

Wei sat on the floor with a bump and a sigh, and something knocked against her flipper. She twisted around, and saw she had narrowly avoided sitting on that little black box with the blinking red light which still occupied the second plug of the electrical outlet. Even with her stomach growling with hunger (she’d missed lunch) and her overtaxed brain making her thoughts lag more than usual, it should’ve occurred to her sooner that this black box was, in fact, a router. An internet router, to be precise.

Wei’s eyes widened. She reached out for the router, but then withdrew. She was in the Book Room above the very public Coffee Shop, not in her own igloo, for crying out loud. She couldn’t just — just poke around other folks’ electronics without asking permission first! Even if she was, for the moment, completely alone and unobserved in the room… and even if said electronic was sitting right there, blinking tantalizingly up at her as though pleading to be fixed…

Wei’s flipper twitched again in the direction of the router. All she wanted to do was fix the Book Room’s terrible internet. Surely there would be no harm in that.

Wei didn’t consider her technological knowledge to be that remarkable, all things considered. Certainly not even close to the realm of penguins like Gary the Gadget Guy, whose inventions held an undercurrent of genius that she could never possibly hope to understand. That being said, Wei had picked up one or two tricks over the years, and these had eventually allowed her to develop her own Methods for doing things. Said Methods weren’t illegal, exactly, but they could occasionally be a little… flexible. One of these Methods included the program she began to boot up on her laptop, even as she connected her laptop to the router with a second cable from her bag. She had written this program herself several years back, to improve the internet at the workplace of a friend whose boss had refused to hire a technician to fix their network connectivity issues, and it only required a few more tweaks in code before it began scanning through the Book Room’s router as easily as picking o’berries. It took a few minutes longer to gain access to the router’s configuration, which Wei accomplished with a few guilty glances over her shoulder toward the still-closed door of the Book Room.

“Sorry,” she muttered again to no one in particular. “I promise I just want to make the network run faster. Even the Dojo has better internet than this.”

Ding. The program wrapped up its final processes and obediently closed itself with a self-satisfied air. In her other window, Wei could see the previously crashed webpage reloading, now much, much faster than before. She allowed herself a little fist-pump of victory.

Which was promptly cut short when her entire screen froze, went grey, and proceeded to throw up several glaring error windows all over the display.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” she yelped, tapping desperately at the keys. “What’s wrong with you now?”

The screen flickered. She could practically hear the fans on her poor laptop strain with the effort of preventing it from overheating. This is a straightforward process, she thought with dismay as her laptop’s memory nearly overflowed despite her frantic efforts. Or at least it should be!

Then as suddenly as it had begun, the blowup stopped. No further error windows appeared, and her screen only lagged slightly when she tentatively tested a few keys. The laptop fans died down to their usual quiet hum.

Only… something was different. When she checked, her laptop memory was still fuller than it should’ve been, and it didn’t take long for her to discover the reason why: a program that had definitely not been present before was now running itself innocuously on her laptop, like a small but stubborn snow-leech sucking away at her RAM.

Wei’s eyes narrowed. She tested the internet, and found that it was running as smoothly as expected.

So this was the reason why the internet connection had been so terrible. Not merely because of a faulty router, but because someone had — had somehow installed a secret program onto said router, where it had stayed for who knew how long, eating away at the extra space and mangling the system into an unusable mess.

But who on the island would do such a thing, and why? A penguin playing a prank? Or someone with more malicious intentions — someone trying to steal information, perhaps, or install malware or even spyware on unknowing penguins’ devices if they tried to use the Coffee Shop’s public internet?

Wei would be the first to admit that she had something of a vivid imagination, but this seemed off in a way that genuinely unsettled her. Her suspicions only grew when she attempted to open this strange program, only to discover the file was heavily encrypted — and it was no amateur’s work, either.

“Alright, then,” she said under her breath, squinting at the numbers on screen. “You want to play this game with me, jerk? Then let’s play.”

.

She hadn’t done anything like this in ages. Not since she was still in school at least, and eager to push the boundaries of her technological capabilities. But like many of Wei’s more dubious Methods, once learnt, it proved to be a hard one to forget. It took her quite a few attempts to suss out the full thirty-two digit encryption key, even with her computer making full use of its ability to compute, but after what seemed like an interminably long time, the firewall collapsed beneath her assault like a stubborn snow-fort finally being knocked over.

“Got you,” Wei murmured triumphantly. The mysterious program sure looked malware-y enough, even after being decrypted, but she had her own ways of protecting her computer from harm. She moused over to the file and opened it with a decisive click.

She was expecting anything from irritating advertisements to a virus’s game attempt at deleting her files. What she was decidedly not expecting was for a nonsense slew of squares dotted with circles and Xs to suddenly shoot across the screen, followed by her own startled face staring back at her from the monitor. With a furious squawk, she scrambled to cover her webcam with one flipper, but already there was large text blinking into existence above the image of her face, this time in readable letters:

NAME: ANWEI

STATUS: CIVILIAN

ERROR 403 — ACCESS DENIED

LOCK DOWN FOREIGN DEVICE IMMEDIATELY.

What do you mean, lock down — !!!

Wei’s laptop screen suddenly flared with an eye-searingly blue light, so bright that she was forced to shield her eyes. Then, with a fatal-sounding whine, the display sputtered, spasmed, and slowly died out, leaving Wei still sitting on the floor of the Book Room, gaping silently at her unresponsive laptop. - - -

Wei did not sleep well that night.

She was too anxious to eat more than a few bites of dinner, and when ten o’clock rolled around, she found herself turning on all the lights in her igloo and triple-checking the locks on her doors and windows. Her laptop, which she had firmly closed and weighed down with a heavy book for good measure, sat in the centre of her cleared-out desk where she could keep a close eye on it. Then she dragged a chair into the foyer so she could sit and guard the front door, phone in flipper and poised to call… somebody, should anyone try to break in, or something.

In her head, a quiet voice that sounded a bit like her last girlfriend’s asked if maybe she was being a tad overdramatic about what was probably just a prank being played on her.

Sagging back in her chair, Wei shook her head furiously to clear it. Mere pranks couldn’t just — just shut down someone’s laptop remotely, or identify exactly who she was from a single blurry photo taken by her webcam.

She wondered, a little wildly, if she ought to start running through her old Card-jitsu katas just in case.

An hour passed; then another, then another. Despite herself, Wei’s eyelids were growing heavy by around three in the morning, and before she knew it, she was startling awake in her chair when her usual seven a.m. work alarm rang shrilly from her bedroom.

In her lap, her white puffle Ai squeaked indignantly at this disturbance before flouncing off in a huff. Meanwhile, Crown, Wei’s second puffle, had somehow found her way on top of her desk and was now rubbing her furry face against the still-closed laptop.

“Get away from that,” Wei muttered, staggering over to her desk and scooping Crown into her arms. “That might not be safe.”

Crown chirruped and head-butted Wei’s face affectionately. At the other end of her igloo, Ai began to demand for her breakfast with loud, imperious squeaks. Wei sighed, and despite the prospect of confronting her massive unfinished workload thanks to her laptop practically imploding the day before, the tight knot in her chest finally loosened somewhat.

“I guess it does seem silly to think about now, huh,” she said to Crown, ruffling the yellow puffle’s fur. Crown tolerated the cuddle for a few moments longer before she squirmed free and hopped over to join Ai by the food bowls.

In spite of her restless night, the brisk morning air revived Wei somewhat when she finally stepped out her front door. Her spirits only continued to rise when she encountered no unpleasant surprises during her walk to the local branch of the Club Penguin Times offices. Today was Friday, the day after the weekly issue was released, and therefore it was the day when her workplace was at its emptiest. It was, in turn, Wei’s favourite day of the week to work, for it meant she had to endure the barest minimum of social interaction possible.

So it was that Wei became relaxed enough to hum along to the tune on her MP3000 as she pushed open the doors to the front lobby. But she stopped short at the entrance when she noticed several things at once:

The usual receptionist was gone, and standing by the front desk instead were three penguins who, eerily, all turned around at the same time to look at her when she walked in.

One of these penguins was Aunt Arctic herself, even though the Club Penguin Times editing offices were located on the other side of the island, and:

One of the other two penguins, wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses like something straight out of ‘Penguins in Black’, stepped forward, half-opened her jacket to reveal a shiny emblem pinned to her lapel, and said in a calm voice,

“Are you Anwei, the employee from the Archives Department? We need you to come with us.”

- - -

“So let me get this straight,” the suited penguin said slowly.

I’m not, Wei’s brain supplied uselessly. She kept her beak shut.

“You located and broke into a PSA Level 5 High-Security Clearance Server…  because you were trying to fix the internet in the Coffee Shop.”

“In the Book Room, actually,” Wei said in a small voice. “And it was an accident.”

The heating was turned on in the small basement room where the three of them currently sat, but Wei’s flippers were ice-cold all the same. She clasped them in her lap to keep them still. She had been placed into a chair in front of a dusty, unused office desk, while the other two penguins sat behind the desk in their own chairs, facing her. The black-suited penguin must have sensed Wei’s nervousness, for she visibly softened before speaking once more.

“Again, you’re not in any trouble, Wei,” the suited penguin said gently. Wei kept her eyes fixed on the nametag pinned to the other penguin’s blazer, which only read ‘S’. “We know you didn’t mean anything malicious by it. All we want to know is how you were able to do it.”

At that, the brown penguin accompanying S snorted and kicked their feet up over the arm of their chair, looking for all the world like they were lounging on a sofa in the Ski Lodge instead of crammed into a wooden chair in a dank little basement of the Club Penguin Times offices.

“And don’t give us any of that nonsense about it being an accident,” they drawled. “The day some penguin can bypass G’s security by accident is the day puffles sprout wings and fly.”

S turned around to give the brown penguin a truly withering glare that was obvious even under those impenetrable sunglasses. “Not helping, Zed,” she hissed.

Zed stuck their tongue out at her, and S scowled back. Watching them now, the two penguins could not be more diametrically opposed; S sitting primly in her neatly buttoned-up suit and tie, and Zed slouched over in a comfortably worn pink hoodie with a blue baseball cap turned sideways on their head. And yet the way in which the two of them interacted, like squabbling siblings who had known each other from the egg, was just so mundane that Wei began to relax, despite herself.

“It really was an accident,” she said. The other two halted their staredown immediately to refocus on her. Wei resisted the urge to shrink back.

“I mean,” she stammered, “I honestly had no idea what I was looking at when I found it. I thought it was a virus, at first.”

Zed sat up and raised an eyebrow. “You thought it was a virus and you still opened it?”

Wei fidgeted. “Well, yeah. I couldn’t just — leave it there, and let some other poor penguin who came after me get their account information stolen, or something.”

S and Zed were silent. Wei tried to elaborate. “I know how to protect my own data from most cyberattacks, so I thought it’d be best if I, er, extracted the corrupt files and dismantled them so they wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Only, when I opened the file, that happened.” Wei gestured at her laptop sitting on the desk, which was open and turned toward the other two penguins but still without power. “And, um. I guess you know what happened next.”

“...right.” S exchanged a look with Zed. “You still haven’t told us how you were able to break the encryption on the server.”

Wei couldn’t help but bristle a little. “I used my own decryption program. But I can’t exactly show you how I did it with my laptop like that, can I?”

“So she does have a backbone,” Zed said, sounding amused. They reached a flipper into their hoodie pocket, pulled out a battered blue phone, and held it up to their ear. “Everything’s good, folks,” they said into the phone unexpectedly. “You can let up now.”

There was no reply that Wei could discern, but Zed tucked the phone back into their hoodie and waved at Wei’s laptop. “Go ahead, you can open it now. I’ve told HQ that they could transfer control back to you.”

No part of that sentence made any sense to Wei, but the startled way in which S jerked and whipped around to face Zed was telling. “Zed,” she whispered. Then, with a significant glance back at Wei, S visibly calmed herself and said stiffly to Zed, “Agent, may I have a word with you outside?”

“Bit late for that now, I think,” Zed said dryly, and Wei tried not to look like she’d been listening too obviously. “C’mon, Sash,” they went on, nudging S/Sash/??? in the shoulder. “You heard what G said. This is too good of an opportunity to waste.” Then to Wei, good-naturedly, “Open up that laptop for us, would you?”

.

“This is remarkable,” S murmured some time later, with no sign of her previous reservations. She scanned avidly through the programming code that Wei had pulled up on the screen of her now miraculously-restored laptop. “May I…” Her flipper hovered over the keyboard, and Wei nodded, recognizing the fervour of a fellow nerd who desperately wanted to take a closer look at the Cool Thing in front of them — not that she ever would have considered one of her own programs to be “cool”. S immediately took off those dark sunglasses and pulled the laptop closer to her, leaning toward the screen.

“The code is a little disorganized,” Wei said nervously. She jumped when Zed clapped a flipper to her shoulder.

“No use talking to her for a while, I’m afraid,” they said cheerfully as S began to write fervently in a small notebook she pulled from her jacket, eyes still fixed to the laptop screen. “When she gets like this, everything goes in one ear and right out the other.”

“Shut up,” S said without looking up.

Zed smirked, but steered Wei aside. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else,” they said, leaning against the wall and crossing their flippers. “You probably have a lot of questions.”

“I’ll say.” Wei shook her head vigorously, then burst out, “Who even are you? Why are you questioning me like this? How did you take over my computer and what was that program I opened and what does any of it have to do with me?”

Zed held up their flippers. “Whoa, slow down. One question at a time, please.”

Wei breathed out slowly. “Fine. Who are you?”

Zed grinned. “Well, that’s easy enough. I’m Zed, and the penguin with the stick down her collar over there is S. Not our real names, of course, but we can tell those to you, too, soon enough. We’re members of an organization called the PSA.”

“You mentioned that… PSA thing before,” Wei said, gathering her thoughts. “What is it?”

“Let’s just say we’re a specialized, anonymous group dedicated to protecting the island from harm.” Zed reached into their pocket and pulled out a slightly more scuffed-up version of that same shiny emblem S had shown her earlier. They passed it to Wei, who examined it closely. “Most of the island leaders and mascots are aware of our existence, including your boss, Aunt Arctic, though we generally prefer to keep out of sight of the general public.”

“Wait.” Wei looked up. “You know Aunt Arctic?”

Zed shrugged. “Not personally. More like she knows of us, really. She’s not a member of the PSA, of course, but she demanded to see our identification before she let us speak with you. Nice lady.”

“Oh,” Wei said, a bit faintly. She had only met Aunt Arctic once before this, during a party to celebrate the publication of the 100th edition of the Club Penguin Times, and even then, she’d only had the courage to stammer out a quick ‘hello’ before bolting. The thought that Aunt Arctic would go through all that trouble, just to protect an employee she probably didn’t even remember meeting, was a little staggering, though Wei was grateful for it. I ought to send her a fish basket or something as thanks.

“Which brings me to my next point.” Zed gave Wei an unexpectedly piercing look. “What you did with that program in the Book Room… you really shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

Wei glared at them a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What Zed means is that the encryption on that program was designed to be foolproof,” S said, suddenly appearing at Zed’s shoulder. She paged through her notebook with a scrutinizing eye. “There are only a few penguins on the island that we know of who are capable of that level of decoding expertise, and all four of them are in the employ of the PSA. Heck, G and K were the ones who wrote that encryption in the first place.” S looked up at Wei, and surprisingly, she smiled. “And then you turned up.”

“Um,” Wei said. “Sorry about that?”

“No, you don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite, actually.” S stepped forward and held out a file toward Wei. Hesitantly, Wei accepted it, running her flipper over the word CLASSIFIED stamped in red on the cover.

“You possess a number of skills that the Penguin Secret Agency would find quite useful for a number of reasons,” S said, refocusing Wei’s attention on her. “And we sought you out today because we’d like to offer you a position.”

Wei blinked, then shook herself. She didn’t have water in her ears, did she? “I’m sorry — a position?” Wei repeated. “You mean, like — like a job? At this Penguin Secret… thing?”

“Yep,” Zed said.

Wei opened her beak, then closed it. “But —” she floundered. “But I already have a job here, with the Club Penguin Times!”

“We’re not saying you have to quit your position here at the newspaper,” S hastened to assure her. “Most of us work regular jobs in our civilian lives. Agency work is usually assigned on an on-call basis, so there’s plenty of downtime between assignments.”

“The PSA’s probably most interested in hiring you as a consultant, anyway,” Zed added. “That’s, like, one assignment every six months, tops. And the pay’s not half-bad, either—”

“Not to mention,” S said loudly, interrupting Zed with a glare, “You would be helping us keep the island safe from threats of all kinds.”

Wei stared down at the file in her flippers. She eased the cover back, and her own name gazed up at her in bold black letters from the page inside.

“Take some time to think about it,” S said more gently. “No hard feelings if you decide the job’s not for you, but if you are interested, all the information’s there in the file.”

Wei could only stand there and continue to stare blankly down, the gears in her mind whirring away frantically. Eventually the other two penguins stepped away and began gathering their things, leaving Wei’s laptop still open on the desk.

“Wait,” Wei heard herself say before S and Zed could leave for good. The scuff of their feet paused at the other end of the room.

“You still haven’t told me what that server was for,” she said, not looking up from the file. “The one I accidentally opened, I mean. Why was it in a router in the Book Room, of all places?”

There was a pause, then an amused chuckle. “If you must know, it’s part of a series of secure PSA servers hidden in select locations around the island,” Zed said. “In the event that the computer mainframe at Headquarters is compromised, our most sensitive information can still be kept safe and accessible by our agents, if they know where to look.”

“The server that you accessed is a bit of a… special case, though,” S said. She sounded a little exasperated. “The Book Room was already ruled out by our tech division as being too public of a space to be truly secure, so its server was left empty, only to be used in the worst of emergencies.”

Wei was finally able to drag her eyes from the file to S and Zed hovering at the door. “But it wasn’t empty,” she said, confused.

Zed looked like they were holding back a laugh, and S sighed. “As it turns out, one of our agents thought that a secure PSA server which had been mostly discarded by the agency as useless would be a grand place to store his family’s top-secret fish recipes,” she said dryly. “The penguins on duty yesterday were just as surprised as you were to be notified of a security breach taking place in a supposedly empty server.”

“The agent responsible for misusing the server has already been reprimanded,” Zed added, snickering. “You should’ve seen his face when he learned of what happened from the Director themself.”

“More worried for his job, or for the sanctity of his oh-so-important apple-fish pie?” S muttered to Zed as the two of them left the room. The door clicked shut before Wei could hear any more of their ensuing conversation, but Zed’s laugh echoed loudly down the hall.

- - -

“This is crazy,” Wei said to a sleeping Ai later that day back at her igloo. (Aunt Arctic had taken one look at her after her conversation with S and Zed and immediately given her the rest of the day off, much to Wei’s relief.)

“This is just absolutely ridiculous,” Wei continued, petting Ai’s fur a little desperately. “I don’t even know who these penguins are. I shouldn’t want to join their weird little secret club and weird secret ways, even if their technology is incredible and like nothing I’ve ever seen before in my life.”

Ai’s only response was a snore. On the coffee table in front of them, Crown hopped over the scattered pages of the file that Wei had spread out and read and reread countless times over the past several hours.

Wei stared at Crown. Crown stared back and let out a questioning squeak. Wei sighed.

“Oh, what the hell,” she said, and reached for the phone.

The penguin on the other end picked up after two rings. “Hello, you’ve reached the Sports Shop in the Ski Village,” they said cheerfully. “How can I help you today?”

“Um.” Wei glanced at the file in front of her. “I think the password is, ‘G has forty-five pairs of socks.’”

#club penguin #club penguin oc #club penguin ace #agent ace #penguin secret agency #club penguin psa #club penguin fanfic #waddle.txt #my writing #wei #anxiety mention

[kumkaniudaku]

BROWN SKIN GIRL: ONE

A/N: Consider this the follow up to The Love Tonight. This sounds very reminiscent to @bribrisback‘s Dance With My Father which is amazingly cute. I promise it wasn’t intentional. It’s my fault for literally take a month to finish one prompt. People tend to beat you to things. Still, I wanted to stick with this. I hope you enjoy part one. 

Little bodies danced in sync to classical music as classes at Tillman Dance Studio neared the end of the first block Saturday session. It was rare that Micah wasn't front and center in her designated age group. Also rare was both of her parents and her younger brother making an appearance to pick her up and whisk the little ball of energy to their scheduled Saturday froyo date. Yet, both of these occurrences came to a head when the Boseman family walked through the door. 

"I wish you would stop," CoCo giggled as Chadwick held the door open for his wife and son, using his free hand to graze across her backside when she passed by.

"Well, aren't you singing a different tune. What changed in an hour?" 

Tasha blushed at the reminder of their earlier activities, but just as she opened her mouth to respond, Noah's yelling caught her attention. 

"Key! Key!"

"You looking for your sister? Point to Mikey!" When the youngest Boseman extended his arm to point in his sister's direction, CoCo was genuinely surprised at what she saw. In a corner, Micah sat with her back against the wall and an odd mix of tear-stained cheeks and an angry disposition. 

"Why is she sitting over there? Who made her cry," Chadwick asked. His body language had shifted from loose, relaxed energy to imposing dominance. "I'm going inside." 

CoCo grabbed his hand to prevent forward progress, "Babe, wait."

"For what? Them to hurt her feelings again? Hell no!"

"Aaron!" 

"Nicole!"

Tasha struggled to reign in her husband's emotions as parents in the immediate area passed around judgemental stares. She offered curt a smile to ward off attention before turning back to Chadwick. 

"I know you're mad," she whisper yelled. "Hell, I'm mad too! But we don't even know what happened yet! Can we at least get the details before we start tearin' shit up?"

Chadwick looked back and forth between his wife and his daughter, who hadn't noticed her parents enter the building like she usually did. He couldn't move past the way she feverishly rubbed at her eyes to stop her tears before drawing her knees up to her chest.

"You promise to let me lead the conversation when get in there," Chadwick asked as he finally turned to face CoCo. 

"I'm in the passenger seat on this one, baby."

Every nerve in his body was set ablaze as Chadwick made the tough decision to tuck away his anger and impatiently wait in the lobby. 

The remaining 15 minutes of instruction felt like 15 hours until, finally, the studio door swung open, and little pupils in blue leotards filed out of the room. Micah trudged behind the group with her head down, following Miss Christy until she reached the threshold of the door. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Boseman, can I speak with you all inside of my office for a moment?"

"We can't talk right here," Chadwick questioned.

Parents craned their necks for information, making the instructor's cheeks turn red with embarrassment. 

"I think you'd much rather have this conversation in private. Trust me; we'll only be a few minutes."

Despite promising to take on the supporting role, Tasha stepped in to agree to Christy's terms on Chadwick's behalf. He instead turned his attention to Micah. She immediately reached out for him when their eyes met. 

"It's okay, Princess. Daddy will fix it, okay?" 

He continued to comfort his first-born during the short and mostly silent walk to the administrative area of the building. Finding safety in her father, Micah maintained a tight grip around his neck as he took a seat. 

A soft drip-drop from the coffee maker across the room provided the only sound, working to push both parents to the highest heights of frustration. 

"What happened?"

Chadwick's cold demand for answers frightened the young woman across from him, though she tried to hide her fear. Tasha's equally cold glare didn't ease any of the tension. 

Folding her hands on the table and clearing her throat, Christy began her explanation. "Today, in class, Micah had an...issue with some of the other girls that turned physical. I recommend a break from the pro-"

"So, someone hit her?"

"No, Mr. Boseman, Micah was the aggressor."

"That's not fair! They were mean!" 

Micah's outburst was uncharacteristic for a child that was almost always mannerable. Chadwick took that as a sign to press for more information. 

"Did you ask what caused the altercation? I'm sure there was a reason."

"Micah says they called her a name, but still, violence is strictly forbidden here. Instructors are available if she wants to report a problem."

"Is bullying against the rules too, or do you make them up as you go," Tasha accused before turning to Micah. "What did they say to you, Mikey?"

The little ballerina fiddled with her thumbs and dropped her head to stare at her feet dangling below her. "Emily said...she said I wasn't pretty like them because my skin is so brown and my hair is frizzy. I'm sorry I pushed her, Mommy. But Ms. Christy wasn't looking, and they weren't nice."

Fearful of whatever punishment was next, Micah continued to avoid eye contact. 

"So when my daughter, the only black child in the age group, was being tormented by a group of girls, were you simply unavailable to step-in or did you not care? I'm curious." 

"Mr. Boseman, I can assure you that we are always watching the girls, bu-"

"Oh, so you saw but didn't care until she had to defend herself. Then, the black child gets in trouble for being the aggressor."

"Are you insinuating that this matter is about race," Christy accused. 

"I'm asking questions. Were you paying attention when Micah was being picked on? Did you ask everyone what happened? Or was she punished while the others were left untouched?"

Christy opened her mouth to speak several times as she looked to CoCo to step in and stop the questioning. 

"You should answer him," she advised. 

"I-I," she stammered, tears threatening to spill. 

"The answer to all of my questions is no, but you don't need to tell me that. You don't need to tell me anything because we're pulling Micah from the program. How should I pay the remaining tuition so that we leave in good standing?"

Chadwick's declaration stunned the other adults in the room, including Tasha. 

"Mr. Boseman, I'm sure we can work something out. Maybe a short break? A meeting between all of the parents?"

"I don't want to meet about a damn thing. I've made a decision. If we need to pay by check, my wife keeps the checkbook. I have my credit card if you'd rather do it that way. But we will not continue to have our child come to a place where she isn't welcome."

There was no room for discussion despite Christy's multiple efforts. Chadwick had made his decision, and it was final. Fifteen minutes and a hefty check later, the family of four walked out of the dance studio Micah had called home for two years. 

After strapping both children into their seats and entering on their respective sides, Tasha smiled at her husband, who was still reeling from the moments prior.

"Where to next, Captain?" 

He thought for a moment, looking in the rearview to find Micah looking back at him. "You still want froyo, Princess?" Her bright smile instantly lifted the mood and alleviated the tension held hostage in his shoulders. Looking back at Tasha, he returned her smile and started the car. 

"Pinkberry it is." 

Frozen yogurt was a quick fix to the issue, but there was still a bleeding wound beneath the bandage. 

As Tasha helped Micah choose her outfits for the upcoming school week, Micah silently ambled around the room. She hadn't said much outside of alerting her parents when she was hungry or ready to play by herself. Instead of pressuring Micah to talk, she was allowed to sort through whatever was in her mind until she was prepared to share. 

"Mommy." 

"Yes, sweetheart?" 

"Am I ugly because I'm brown?" 

The hangers in Micah's closet roughly collided as CoCo lost focus and dropped the dress in her hand. Tasha whipped her head around, her eyes softening when she found her daughter sitting with her knees to her chest. 

"Of course not. You're beautiful." 

"Well, how come they said I was? I just wanted to be friends, and they were mean. What did I do?" 

CoCo could feel her heart and mind going through a range of emotions. On the one hand, she was upset to the point of rage. Someone had destroyed all of the self-esteem they had instilled from the day she was born in one day. On the other hand, she had to fight the urge to cry to stay strong for Micah. 

Placing the dress across a chair in the corner, Tasha moved to sit next to her daughter and pull her into a hug. 

"Sometimes, people are going to be mean to you because you look different than they do, and it's gonna suck. It might even make you wanna cry. But it's because they aren't taught better at home, not because you aren't pretty or smart or anything else. Do you understand?"

"No," Micah muttered before snuggling closer to her mother. "I want friends that like me, Mommy. And I wanna dance too."

"You'll have friends, baby. They'll be the bestest friends you could ever have, not those mean girls that make fun of you."

Even though she acknowledged Tasha's statement with a head nod, Micah was still hurting. And her hurting was automatically transferred and magnified in her mother. She and Chadwick always knew that their kids would face these issues in their environment. But this situation felt like a punch to the ribs. 

When Tasha finally trudged back into the master bedroom, she found her husband silently pacing around the room while scrolling through webpages on his iPad. 

"How'd it go," Chadwick asked without looking away from his device. 

Taking a seat on the chaise near their bed, CoCo kicked off her house slippers and sighed. "She thinks she's ugly because she's brown and I did a shitty job of explaining that people are terrible. So, that's how it went." 

"You told her she's beautiful, though, right? She knows that it's because she looks different than the people in her class." 

"Baby, a six-year-old just wants friends that aren't mean. And, if we're completely honest right now, telling her that only non-black people will dislike her for her skin is a lie. Some of us are going to give her the same shit." The weight of knowing they were only at the tip of the racism and colorism iceberg made Tasha's stomach turn with an uneasy feeling. 

Sighing, Chadwick took in CoCo's words as he placed his tablet on the bed and motioned for her to slide over in the chair. 

"Raising kids is tough work," he spoke, the words coming out in a rush of air. 

"Hell yeah, it is. I feel...powerless." 

"We are doing the best we can given the circumstances. Especially you," Chadwick encouraged while pulling CoCo closer to his side. "What we can do is continue affirming Micah in every way and putting her in spaces where she doesn't have to feel so different." 

"So, we're moving to Wakanda?" 

"Absolutely. Let's pack our shit." The pair shared light laughter despite the issue at hand. When the moment passed, silence began to sit over the room as they both settled into their thoughts to come up with a good solution. "Can I show you something?" 

Tasha nodded while her eyes curiously followed her husband's movements to the bed and back with his tablet. 

"I know you usually take the lead on this stuff, but I would love to see Mikey do something like this. The program director is nice, their reputation is stellar, and the students that give it their all tend to succeed." 

Colors from the various pictures and videos that filled the screen danced across CoCo's face as she examined the website. Chadwick apprehensively watched her face while she browsed to gauge his wife's reaction. He couldn't decide if his efforts were appreciated until Tasha's poker face warmed into a bright smile. 

"This is amazing, baby! How soon can we sign her up?" 

"Surprise, she's already signed up. Her first day is next weekend." 

Tasha's grin continued to spread across her face as Chadwick smiled back at her like a child and made jazz hands for dramatic effect, "I should've known Dad would come to the rescue." 

"We're a team, baby," he correct, kissing her forehead. "But you're gonna need to step back when we go teach baby girl these dance moves. I can't have you confusing my baby with your two left feet." 

Chadwick skillfully dodged a pillow flying through the air as retaliation for his dig at CoCo's dancing skills before sliding out of the room to give Micah some much-needed attention. 

---------

TAGS:

@k-michaelis

@wakandanmoonchild

@idilly

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[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 6 (3.5k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev | next >

- - - - - - - - - -

Hank and Markus were already chatting on the sidewalk when Connor got there. He parked the car in front of them and rolled down the passenger window. “Hello, Markus.”

“Connor!” It was Markus’ turn to lean his forearms on the window. “And here I was, thinking nothing more could surprise me.”

“Quite the surprise for us, too. I hope the Lieutenant didn’t interrupt anything.”

“No, not at all. It’s a very good sign that the humans are more curious about us than hostile. Do you really think they would’ve emailed a free android the key to stealing a human body a year ago?”

Connor smiled. “That’s true. Knowledge of this still won’t disseminate to the public for a long time, though. I figured you at least should get a heads-up, just in case we need to keep CyberLife in check.”

“About that….” He raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate the consideration, but didn’t CyberLife ask to keep it to you two?”

Connor hesitated, trying to recall their exact wording. “Not explicitly.”

“But they did want it on the down low. And Hank gave me the email through your memories, which opened that it’s only for the intended parties, of which I am not. And he’s got that all recorded, thanks to the black box running in his head.”

“Oh….” The recording of the event that CyberLife wanted back from them. He had completely forgotten. “You know, the expression ‘it slipped my mind’ makes so much more sense once you know what the human brain is like.” He rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t sure why he did, but he felt better after. “It would take way more than a day to get used to it, Markus.”

“Of that, I’ve no doubt,” he laughed. Clapping his hands together, he stepped back from the car. “But you can tell me all about it later. You only have a couple hours left, right?”

“Two hours, forty-seven minutes, give or take an hour,” said Hank, opening the door. “It’s like there’s a big countdown clock in the back of my head. Numbers this, schedule that. So orderly and organized. Fuckin’ overbearing.”

“And I was just about to miss your vulgarity in my voice,” said Connor.

“Oh? What’s that?” Hank buckled the seatbelt before cupping a hand around his ear. “Is that a joke? Picking up my humor? Should I be charging royalties?”

Before he could come up with a clever response, Markus interjected with a farewell and a reminder to keep in touch, maybe have a proper visit sometime soon. They waved, and then Connor started the car down the block.

“Kid, this head of yours?” Hank held up his hands, fingers splayed, emphasizing, “In. Sane. I watched like six classical painting tutorials in seconds, then calculated some predictive program that knew what each brush stroke would look like. I went from zip to forging Monets in twenty-six minutes. If I weren’t an officer of the law and you weren’t Mother Teresa, we could be rich! Stop sign.”

“Stop—?!” He hit the brakes, jolting to a halt at the intersection. There weren’t any other cars around, thanks to the suburban neighborhood. Connor’s heart was thumping in his chest; he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. It wasn’t enjoyable. He took a breath. “Sorry, Lieutenant. In contrast to your newfound hyper-awareness, I’m finding it hard to focus like I’m used to.”

“Ah. Understandable, that makes sense. Want me to drive, then?”

“That might be a good idea, yes.”

He climbed out of the driver’s seat and went around to the other side. There still wasn’t a car in sight. Then why did they even need a stop sign there in the first place?

Back in the car, Hank drummed his hands on the steering wheel while Connor fumbled for the seat belt. “So where are we going, anyway?” he asked. “With a six- to eight-hour time frame, that doesn’t give us a real definite end time, varying by up to—fucking math….”

The latch clicked. Where should they go next? What else would be quintessential to the human experience, something so unique Hank attempted to trademark it? What do humans do anyway?

They’re emotional, so pastimes often include a neurological reaction. Adrenalin rushes were common through thrillers and death-defying death traps, but it would take more time than they had. If not reactionary, then it was stimulated intentionally. They could go to a bar, but that would be pointless for Hank, and Connor didn’t particularly want to give up lucidity when he was supposed to be figuring himself out. Right up there with alcohol were drugs and sex, both of which were disrespectful to his host. The mere thought of them left a bad taste in his mouth—an expression he certainly didn’t expect to be literal.

Once he got distracted by that, his thoughts flooded over, once again overwhelming his head. “God damn,” he groaned, sinking into the passenger seat to try to escape the torrent. “Maybe just…home? I think I just need to be able to think things through.”

Hank didn’t answer immediately. Connor caught him looking his way for a moment before he shifted to first gear. “Home it is, then. Too much to process without a processor. Happens to the best of us, and I’ve found the best solution is a cold beer and a warm dog.” Then he drove off through the quiet neighborhood.

As they accelerated, the wind started whipping his hair around through the open window. Normally, it wouldn’t be a bother, but Hank’s hair was much longer than his, and he had to comb it out of his face whenever it got too obtrusive. He was glad he didn’t have long hair: his was long enough to appear amicable and open as was his function as a detective, yet short enough that it kept out of his way.

His hair. As in, the RK800’s hair. Even though that wasn’t his at the moment, he still considered it his. Even though it was actively and currently being used by someone else, he still considered it his. Because he knew that it was only temporary, he justified, and it would be his again soon.

Only temporary. Then back to his short hair, spry figure, adjustable senses, SSD memory, network connection, parallel processes….

When he laid it all out like that, it really did sound like he was talking about a computer. Did that really constitute as a life?

It must, right? He had lived it. He was alive. And now he was living out a human life, so his existence must allow the capability of living.

But it’s temporary, a sampling of what could’ve been before being cut off from real emotions again. Before not being able to feel the sun’s radiation prickle along his skin. Before becoming unable to taste all the cuisines man spent so many centuries refining.

His throat constricted slightly, just enough to become uncomfortable. An unknown reaction like that would have never happened in his own body. He lamented his inability to research what it meant before he remembered Hank’s phone. That was something humans did: frequently check their phones. Some factual research would be a welcome distraction from his inconclusive pessimistic thoughts.

Connor pulled out Hank’s phone, unlocking it with his thumbprint (breaking and entering?). As he loaded the browser and began formulating his first search query, the feeling slowly lessened, disappearing sometime while he was reading the first webpage.

At least he knew that he definitely would not miss how long it took humans to read.

- - - - - - - - - -

He was in the middle of calculating his heart rate, two fingers pressed under his jaw and a half-read article on heart disease on the screen, when the soft radio and rumbling engine shut off. “You’re not killin’ me, are ya?” asked Hank.

“Hopefully not. Just making sure.” Connor got out of the car, waiting for Hank to lock up and get the front door. He decided against finishing the article and put the phone away. He didn’t think the results would make him feel better.

Hank opened the door and threw the keys onto the nearest table. “Howdy, Sumo!” he called as he kicked off his shoes.

Connor spotted the dog in the kitchen, picking his head up but not rising to greet them like usual. He must still be thrown off by earlier. As Connor untied his shoes, Hank crouched by Sumo, scratching his head and saying something he couldn’t hear. Sumo’s tail started thumping on the floor.

Hank jumped to his feet, continuing to hop in place a few times. “Think I can do a backflip?” he asked out of nowhere. “Never seen you do any sick flips.”

“Uh…possibly? It’s not really what my model was designed for, though.”

“Hmm.” He stopped and rolled his shoulders. “Alright, maybe you should try it before I do, then.”

“That would ensure the most safety for all involved.”

“Don’t say that; you’ll make me calculate risks and shit.”

Connor smiled. “I understand.”

“I’m sure you do.” Hank opened the fridge. “How do androids handle their liquor?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He glanced up over the door. “No shit?”

“Not in the sense that we get drunk. The ethanol is easily combustible and can raise internal temperatures too quickly, potentially boiling thirium.”

“…But a little won’t hurt?”

Connor opened his mouth to contest before Hank raised a finger with a distracted glance. Then he nodded. “One won’t hurt.”

He ignored Connor’s half-hearted arguments as he retrieved two beers, kicked closed the door, and jumped onto the couch. Hank did have more of the facts now than he did…. He’d verify his search later, he concluded, and brought the bottle opener from the coffee table into the living room. “So long as you did your research, Lieutenant.”

“Please. There’s no way I could’ve not.” With an expert flick of the wrist, Hank popped the caps off and held one out. “Wanna watch something?”

Connor sat down, appreciating the compression leaving his bones. The bottle was cold in his hand, becoming more uncomfortable by the second; he minimized contacted surface area by holding the neck between two fingers. “I suppose.”

Saturday afternoon television consisted of a hodgepodge of reruns, final minutes of sports games, and movies. Hank surfed for a bit before settling on a movie that exploded onto the screen in the middle of a fight. Connor, by this point, was reluctantly resigned to his lack of a search engine.

He sipped his beer. It tingled his tongue in a way that reminded him of his coffee earlier—bitter. There was another taste there, too, something that smoothed out the bitterness. It was pleasant; his bet was on ‘sweet.’ Overall, he’d say he liked it. Of course he liked it; Hank had lived off the stuff for years.

Hank’s bottle appeared inches from his face. “It’s just giving me warnings about alcohol flammability. Not worth it.”

“O-Oh….” He reluctantly took it, held it a few seconds, then set it on the table, unsure if he even wanted to finish one, let alone two. Even though the moment had passed by the time he thought of it, he added, “Told you so.”

“Wow. You completely missed both the comedic and vindictive timings there. You’re really out of it.”

“Well. It’s just…. I feel really….” He wrapped his arms around himself, holding his beer off to the side. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it. It just seemed more secure like that. And warm. “…really weird.”

“Of course you feel weird, this is fuckin’ weird. You were a robot this morning.”

“But am I still?”

“Hm?”

Connor’s voice quieted, not entirely sure what can of worms he was opening. “Am I an android?”

“Of course—”

“I’m not, though,” he interrupted, staring at the table. “To anyone that asked right now, by all definitions of the term, I am not an android. I breathe and have blood and lack even an iota of machinery, so what does it matter that it wasn’t my body yesterday? What’s the difference? Where is the line drawn between us?”

“Maybe there isn’t a difference.”

“Yeah, Hank, I know, I’m a sentient individual just like any human, but isn’t there?” He gripped his sleeve. “Even I know it’s not normal to turn on a computer only to have it demand equal rights. It was a marvel of engineering and nobody knows how it happened, but somehow it made me and millions of others, and now it looks like it’s completely fine for this computer to just continue existing as a human like nothing’s really changed. But god damn it, everything’s changed! Once upon a time CyberLife built a robot and now it’s drinking a beer and questioning existence, so what does that make me? Because it sure as hell doesn’t sound like I’m an android anymore.”

“Oh, boy.” Hank turned to face him, crossing his legs under him and resting his forearms on his knees. “C’mere, look at me.”

Connor took a small breath before turning his head. The RK800 next to him was an odd sight: A highly advanced investigative prototype in somewhat faded jeans and a tee two sizes too big? It would’ve been inconceivable a year ago. It was completely against design, and yet here it was, and in a domestic setting. After a few seconds, he realized the curve in the shoulders was familiar, the arch of the eyebrows sympathetic and recognizable. Even in an RK800 chassis—his chassis—his mannerisms still made it clear it was Hank in there.

Hank watched him with the same careful scrutiny, looking for something in his face. “Kid, I don’t know,” he eventually admitted. “No one knows. Most stumble through life without ever thinking about it. Even CyberLife with all its awards doesn’t know; if they did, we wouldn’t be sitting here in front of a fun house mirror right now.

“So my thoughts on the matter are the same as they were before: To me, it just doesn’t matter. You are who you are. But.” He paused for a moment. His hand moved to rest on the back of his neck as he averted his gaze. “I’m a human in a human’s world. I think not having to worry about identity is a privilege I didn’t realize I have. It’s something we all probably have to come to terms with as androids start to pave their own way. But there really might not be a difference. Humans hate other humans for dumb shit, so I’d bet this is just a continuation of the ‘us and them’ mentality. Maybe all someone needs to exist is a brain that questions if it exists, like that guy said—René Descartes, Discourse on the Method, 1637, “—it was absolutely necessary that I, who thus thought, should be something; And as I observed that this truth, I think, therefore I am—” and so on and such.”

Connor turned slightly to rest his cheek on the back of the couch. It didn’t ease his worries, but his body relaxed into the cushions. “But how can a computer suddenly get life? If the soul is something organic, a machine can’t have one.”

“Having a soul is a belief. It’s something to trust in, to—”

“It’s not, though. It’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer: Do I have a soul?”

Hank didn’t answer right away. Connor felt like he was running in circles, dropped into the middle of a void he didn’t know existed yesterday. He felt irritated—confused—helpless—and at the same time, weak, like he should just give up and curl up on the couch and try to forget it all.

“Connor.”

He opened his eyes. (When did they close?)

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” said Hank. His LED cycled yellow. “And I think we’ve done enough building for one day. So why don’t you have some more alcohol and go take a nap, hm?”

“Wh—” The suggestion temporarily took up his entire processing capacity. He blinked and clarified, “I should go sleep? I’m only human for an afternoon and I should sleep?”

“Sure, why not? You look tired. Ah-ah—!” He held up a hand to cut off his rebuttal. “And we don’t know when exactly this’ll wear off or if I’ll get notified about it. Wouldn’t want you passing out on your feet, dropping my empty body to smash its head on something.”

That was a good point. “I could just stay here, though. Is it really the best use of my time right now to sleep?”

“To sleep, perchance to dream. Who knows,” Hank smirked, “maybe you’ll count some electric sheep. I kinda want to know.”

His lips parted, trying to parse the random statement. He wagered a guess and said, “That’s a reference that I can’t look up right now.”

“I’ll give you points for that. It’s a book. Only seen the movie, though. Oh.” Hank’s eyes narrowed slightly, glaring into the middle distance. “I just got the strangest urge to hit myself. I think your body’s biased, Connor. CyberLife has it out for me and my Blade Runner addiction.”

“I….” He was so lost right now. “I don’t…think that’s true?”

“Beer.” With a pat on his shoulder, Hank stood up, arms crossed. “It’ll help you sleep better.”

Connor sighed. Maybe enough was enough for one day. Maybe he just needed time to think things through. Hank was looking down at him in a way that made it clear he didn’t really have a choice, either. Not to mention looking down at him wearing his face, which made his stomach condense into an uncomfortable knot. He took a longer sip of his beer before setting the half-empty bottle next to its twin. “Alright,” he conceded, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Thanks, Hank.”

He stumbled, pulled into a hug. Hank wrapped his arms around his neck and shoulders, and after a moment of surprise, Connor hesitantly did the same. His clothes were soft, his skin smooth and cool, much cooler than when he was human. He realized he was the warmer of the two now and wondered why Hank ever bothered hugging an android when there didn’t seem to be anything to gain from it.

But then Hank tightened his grip and rested his chin on his shoulder, and immediately Connor felt relieved—secure—contented—stable—his anxieties melting away—like he could just stay like this and forget the future. His breath caught. Like all that mattered was here and now.

And he felt okay with that.

“Your hair’s tickling my ear. My hair. Why hasn’t anyone told me that before.”

Connor smiled. Typical Hank, shirking from being too sentimental.

“And you’re just a little shorter than me. I gotta crane my neck a bit now to do this.”

“Alright, I get it.” He pulled away, combing back his hair.

Hank snickered and waved him off. “Open the blinds if you want.” He returned to the couch, clicking his tongue to call Sumo.

Connor glanced at the TV, movie forgotten. It still looked the same as when they turned it on. He patted Sumo as he walked by before heading to Hank’s room.

He left the door open behind him. He wasn’t even really sure if he could sleep. Does he just lie there or…? Whatever the case, a fluffy pillow looked comfortable to rest his head against. He lied down on his back, folding his hands over his midriff. The quiet sounds of the television grew softer still—Hank must’ve turned down the volume.

Like each time before, not having gravity compressing his shoulders was an instant subtle relief. He sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe it’ll just happen? He wasn’t aware of humans having manual control over their states of consciousness. If he tried to think less, maybe it would trigger the low-power mode that is sleep.

He shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be a problem that androids ever have to experience. But it was also an opportunity to see something no one has before. He should try to be in the moment. He can pick apart the details later.

What did Hank make a joke about, counting sheep? That was a saying that sounded familiar: something mundane to lull him into a passive thought process. Might as well give it a try.

He got bored of sheep after forty-one and decided to instead list and picture dog breeds alphabetically. He remembered getting to the Finnish Spitz, after which it got hazy, like the world had faded away.

[next >]

#Detroit Become Human #Connor RK800 #Hank Anderson #body swap #DBH #DBH fanfiction #my writing #Back home with the family now for the time being #got a puppy sleeping on my arm while I type this #can't use my left hand #sleepy 20wk-old dane

[tetrakys]

Miss the Misery - part 2

Agsty darker rewrite of UL Castiel’s route.

Part 1

3rd September, 10:30 pm , three years ago

I was running across the park when I felt someone stop me, grabbing me by the arm.

“Dammit Candy!” he shouted panting. “Stop for fuck’s sake!”

“Let me go, Castiel.” I replied trying to free myself from his grasp.

“No, stop it! Explain to me why you are running! Why are you here? What’s wrong?”

“Everything!” I cried out finally done fighting, ready to shout all my rage at him. “Everything is wrong! What was that, Castiel? I came to surprise you, I thought you would be happy, and I find you in… I don’t even know what that was because it wasn’t a normal party. And your ‘new friends’? They definitely look friendly enough!”

“If you’re talking about the girl sitting next to me, I just met her, I don’t even know her name.”

“You never used to let strangers touch you before,” I said wounded.

“You came in right when she’d put her hand on my chest, I was about to push her away, it was just bad timing. Do you really think I would do something like this you? To us?” he asked as if he couldn’t believe I would doubt him.

“Yes… No… I don’t know Castiel, I feel like I don’t know you anymore. This is not you. Those people, that place… is not you!”

“Maybe you don’t know me anymore because you stopped trying.”

“I’m here, am I not?” I said opening my arms.

“Now, yes. But when was the last time you were focused on us instead of your new life?”

“And when was the last time you did it? Answer this simple question Castiel: are you ever going to leave this town and join me?”

He didn’t reply and we just looked at each other for a few long seconds.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I guess…” he whispered. “I guess there’s nothing else to say.”

And right then and there my heart broke in thousands tiny pieces.

“I guess not.”

I turned around and walked away.

This time he didn’t try to stop me.

 ---

Present day

“You’re definitely close to perfection,” he said leaving me speechless.

Laying one hand on my cheek, his thumb came to my lower lip, caressing it gently. The way he was looking at me, with so much longing and earnest emotion, made me realise something.

My modern art history professor wanted to fuck me.

I stared at him curious. Mr Zaidi was hot, no doubt about that. There was nothing boyish about him, he was a proper man, and his confident, mature air combined with his charm and good looks had been the downfall of more than a few students in our class. Not that he seemed interested though, there’d never been any rumours about him, he was always extremely professional.

Yet… he wanted me.

I had to admit, I was more than a little flattered.

So… was I game?

In the past three years I’d dated a little but not that much. What I enjoyed was the game, the chase, the flirt, afterwards I easily got bored. I got off on the power play, it was the knowledge of being desired that actually turned me on, but I didn’t have much interest in giving myself to someone.

The few times it had happened, it’d been because the situation was intriguing enough and, well, I was horny, but it never lasted long.

Now I had to be careful. Capturing my professor’s attention was definitely an ego boost, but he was still my professor, I shouldn’t fuck this up.

I was really tempted though.

Without breaking eye-contact I wetted my lips, ‘accidentally’ touching his thumb with the tip of my tongue, and I saw his eyes turn really dark.

I wasn’t sure what he was about to do, or how far I wanted to push him before backing off, because we got interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“…I’m sorry to interrupt. I thought it was open.”

I took a step back immediately, shocked to find Castiel looking at us with an unperturbed expression.

“You’re just in time, I’m closing in ten minutes,” I replied with the most fake, seemingly relaxed smile I could muster.

“Excuse me,” Rayan said getting out of his own stupor. “I’m leaving, goodnight see you in class, miss.”

“Miss?” Castiel said raising an eyebrow as soon as Rayan left the café. “Class? Was that one of your professors?” he asked coming to seat at a barstool.

“Mmm… maybe?” I replied smirking. “Yes, he’s my modern art history professor, he was helping me move the tables inside.”

“… how nice of him.”

I could detect a drop of sarcasm in his tone, but I let it go, I didn’t owe him any explanation.

“What can I get you? And, how come you’re here? Did you know I work here?”

“A coffee and no, actually I was on my way to rehearsal when I saw you by the window and I thought to stop and say hi. Also, I really need a coffee.”

I bet he did. It was almost 10pm he was probably going to spend most of the night playing.

“Isn’t it a little late to rehearse?” I asked turning my back to him while preparing the coffee. I could feel his eyes on me, studying all my movements.

“I was busy the whole day catching up with the classes I missed since the start of the academic year.”

That made me pause. He explained that he was enrolled in a musicology degree here at Anteros. When did that happen?

When I last saw him, about three years ago, he’d had no intention to ever attend university. We’d talked so many times about his plans for the future, I felt like he was wasting himself away. I supported him and his dream but begged him to consider doing something while he figured things out with his music, so many fights and useless discussions.

And now? His band was a huge success, he was about to graduate and was surrounded by enamoured fans everywhere he went.

Did he need to get rid of me to get his life on track?

“I’m happy you seem to have it all figured out” I replied as I handed him the coffee, with what I hoped was a sweet smile and not a bitter sneer.

He took a sip eying me dubiously, then he placed the cup on the counter and spoke with a surprised tone in his voice.

“This… is actually good.”

“What? Were you expecting it would suck?” I asked rolling my eyes.

“No…? Well, I guess you have a plan B if things don’t work out with your degree.”

“Mph…”

“Maybe I’ll even put a good rate on the café’s webpage,” he smirked.

Why was he talking to me so easily, even joking, as if we were old friends? As if nothing major or traumatic had happened between us? I was supposed to act as the cool, aloof one. I was supposed to appear as the mature, collected woman who had never spared a single thought about him since our breakup.

He was supposed to be the one with his heart in turmoil.

I was trying to figure out how to reply to him, when the door opened again.

“What the…” Nath said surprised when he saw Castiel sitting in the otherwise empty café. “Here I was planning on sitting down for a coffee, I guess I’ll go somewhere else.”

“I knew I should’ve left earlier, this place definitely attracts a bad crowd.”

Nath and Castiel looked as if they wanted to rip each other’s throat.

It’d been years since I’d seen them at it, and I hadn’t really missed it.

“I’m surprised to find the local starlet here, I though that this was a sleazy place for high school kids.”

“How nice for the ‘sleazy place’s’ waitress,” I pointedly replied to Nath.

“In any case this place is not nearly as sleazy as the ones where you usually hang out,” Castiel said unphased. “We know that wherever you find junkies, you’ll find Natha…”

Nathaniel showed the table between them towards Castiel, I gasped in surprise and rushed to their side of the counter.

“Careful what you say,” Nath was trembling in anger.

“Otherwise what?”

“Enough, stop!” I cried out. “This is my workplace. You either sit down and order something to drink or you both leave.”

“She’s right,” Castiel replied cool, as if nothing was happening, “we’re going to scare the costumers away.”

“I don’t give a da…”

“I said let’s go.” He said standing up, “If you want to talk, we’ll do it elsewhere, not here.”

He was… pretty impressive.

Nath bit his lip and walked out of the café without looking back.

“Was he coming to see you?” Castiel asked me in a somewhat accusatory tone.

“I don’t know, why?”

“In any case follow my advice, he’s not the best person to hang out with.”

I felt my blood boil into my veins.

“Why? Because of his reputation? Or because he’s showing a bit of interest in me?” I asked, unable to hide my building anger. “Because if it’s the first, I should probably remind you that people used to say the same thing about you back in high school. If it’s the second, well, you don’t own me Castiel, you haven’t in a long time. I can hang out with whomever I want.”

A few seconds went by where we just looked at each other. I was so angry and completely upset, he looked like the posterchild of boredom and coldness. And I wanted to slap him, attack him, just to get a reaction, any reaction out of hin.

“Fine,” he finally said, only his clenched fists betraying his feelings. “If this is how you feel, I won’t bother you any longer. I have to go anyway.”

Fuck! Fuck him! Fuck everything!

What was I expecting? He didn’t care and never had!

At one point, maybe… he used to be so hot and warm, we fought all the time, but at least we never hid what we felt. This new, mature and collected behaviour of his… I hated it.

I let myself fall to the floor as soon as he left the building.

Enough!

I’d seen him twice now, and twice the meeting had left me upset and unhinged, and him completely unfazed.

I wasn’t going to let him run the show anymore, I wasn’t going to keep pretending we were friendly old acquaintances. I was done with this fake politeness.

I was done with this bullshit.

It was war.

#my candy love #mclul #mclul castiel #amour sucré #amor doce #castiel #dolce flirt #sweet crush #corazon de melon #my writing #miss the misery #writeblr #writblr